Fresh Rain
by Chtristyn
Summary: What would happen if Bella faced herself? What would happen if the Cullens had more to their histories than a vague sense of compassion and an impossible biology? Twilight re-write: expanded, humanised, and filled with dreams. AU. Not an AllHuman fic.
1. First Smite

**UPDATE: **Fresh Rain trigger warnings are now available in a link on profile page.

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><p><strong>Summary:<strong>

Bella has always felt alone, but that was fine. She's always had her books, her dreams.

She tends to blame herself, even for things that aren't her fault. Especially when things aren't her fault.

Which makes it harder to get to know people, really. Which is why she turns to stories, to dreams, and to those who reside within them.

What would happen if Bella faced herself? What would happen if the Cullens had more to their histories than a vague sense of compassion and an impossible biology?

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><p>Many thanks to Timekeeper101 for beta'ing this chapter!<p>

**Disclaimer:** Fanfic is a fickle friend, Reader. SMeyer is as SMeyer does. Remember that.

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

The sun was sinking into the horizon at an alarming rate. Soon, they would be upon us. Behind me, I heard a quiet murmur: _"Dun dun dunn."_ This would have been sufficiently annoying, but continuing to the tune of Nocturne in E Flat was just silly.

**Chapter One: First Smite (AKA: Smitten)**

I'm not much a fan of airports. Actually, I'm not a fan of _people_ in airports. Well, okay, I have nothing against people in general. Crowds of people _in a rush? _Downright horrific.

I managed to stay away from a decent part of the crowd after a trolley lunged into me. I spent the majority of my time in line at the help desk, hoping for a bandage.

(I bled everywhere, a janitor gave me a sour look, and I used laser vision to cauterise the wound. Fantastically, one of these anecdotes is true.)

This occurred on the second leg of my trip; I'd be at my new home soon.

My mother recently married a man named Phil, who travels around playing minor-league baseball. I'm a minor, so she had to stay with me in Arizona.

After running through my options, I came to a conclusion and acted accordingly. My biological father in Washington happened to have an empty bedroom and a pleasant disposition. Therefore, off I went!

It took a lot of convincing on my part before my mom would allow it. Eventually I found the right argument, which was an honest one. I explained how I had spent nearly my entire childhood with her. The past few years, it had gotten to the point where I wasn't even visiting my dad _at all._ Besides, I'd be going off to college soon, and it would be nice to spend a year or two with him.

It wasn't a fun truth to face. I'd started that part of life where you _really_ begin to focus on all of your past mistakes. "Neglect of a parent" sounds weird if you say it out loud, but it's how I felt. I just couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it until mom started getting serious with Phil.

My dad... I just can't call him that. I started calling him "Charlie" a few years ago, and while it would be nice to call him "Dad", it'd be too forced. Well, it's not like he calls me "Daughter". Even my mother uses my first name. (Except when I've been mistakenly accused of wrongdoing, in which case I am _"Isabella Marie Swan!"_)

So, Charlie.

Though Charlie is a police officer, the car he picked me up in wasn't his cruiser. As we loaded my luggage into the back seat, he explained. "Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to use it when I'm off-duty... Ah, but that's not a rule anyone really cares about much around Forks, so long as we keep the cars fueled ourselves."

We finished packing up and slid into the sheltered interior of the car, where Charlie had the heater blasting. High above us, thunder rumbled.

He allowed me to put down my window. I'd forgotten how nice the rain smelled; it was so _clean._ I let myself soak into the cool humidity. I was sure I'd get sick of the weather eventually, but it was amazing after so long in the dry heat of Phoenix.

After being assured I was safely buckled in, he continued his explanation ("I just didn't like the slow traffic, you know?"), then told me of an instance where someone stopped at a stop-sign for a full thirty seconds; if that didn't seem long, sit still and count to thirty.

"That's ridiculous," I stated after thirty seconds.

"It _was_ ridiculous, but he got there first, so I had to wait it out."

His "happy traffic" car was a gritty, old, red truck. He liked talking about his truck: its rust, its inability to start when the weather's cold, its torn seats, and the lingering smell of tobacco. Apparently, he got the truck from Billy Black, an old family friend. "Sorry, Bells. I'm sure you want your own car to get to school while I'm at work, but it's easier to use one insured under my name. Unless you've made a fortune in stocks while I wasn't looking?"

I laughed and recounted my extreme success during a stocks project for computer class, then assured him of my willingness to share joint-custody of the truck. "That is, unless you don't mind me saving up for a GSX-R."

"Gee-a-sex what? What's that?"

"A motorbike. A _gorgeous _motorbike." I grinned in the most manic way I could manage, hoping for a reaction.

Charlie was too busy concentrating on the road to see my expression, but still groaned. "Get yourself a small car, like your mother. I'm sure you can find a good used one in Port Angeles. It'd be a good investment. You'd live long enough to drive it more than once."

As much fun as it was to tease him, I let up on the motorbike. I really did want one someday, and wanted him to take me seriously when the time came. I filed the idea away for my eighteenth birthday. If he didn't change his mind by then, it could wait until college.

Instead, I brought up a different tricky subject: my usage of his first name. He never minded being called "Charlie" before, but he might not feel the same way while I'm living with him.

He furrowed his brow for a moment, before letting out a snort of laughter. "Only if I can call you Isabella Marie."

"Ha! You won't do it. It's a long name. You've got a deal, Charlie."

"Hey now, I didn't say you could show disrespect toward your father, Isabella Marie." His voice was stern, but a wide, toothy grin let me know he was joking.

The rest of the drive went on with the same banter, until we both ran out of things to say. It wasn't uncomfortable, and the radio was having a good night. Thus far, Forks was treating me well.

Charlie seemed to be enjoying the radio as well, so we sat in the car for a few moments until a song ended. At least, that's what I thought we were doing. He glanced at the house, hand hesitantly resting on the car keys. That was confusing. I've been here before, was he was worried I wouldn't like it any more?

Turning to look at the house, I noticed something was... off.

"Hey, Charlie?"

"Lost a bet against Harry Clearwater. Don't bring it up again, Isabella Marie." He exited the car, grabbed my luggage, and walked with dignity into the house.

His pretty, pretty, _pink_ house.

Forks was seeming more and more like a good idea every second.

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><p>Morning was rough. We had gotten home late, and with me being unused to the sound of rain, I was kept up even later.<p>

When I made the way down the stairs, Charlie was eating breakfast. I yawned a "good morning", digging into the cupboards for a mug.

He returned the greeting, then waved to a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. He must have cooked while I was in the shower. It was a good thing; I'm normally not the type to eat breakfast, but a full stomach would probably be a good idea on the first day in my new school.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and started in on the food.

"Since when do you drink coffee, Isabella Marie?" I had to check his face to see if his voice was rough in consternation or from waking.

"Since I was fourteen, and if you keep calling me that, I'll never take you seriously when I'm really in trouble."

His laughter took a good three years off him and added three hours of sleep. He chatted a bit while cleaning his plate; he had sorted my papers out with the school earlier in the week. Directions and the car keys were by the door when I was ready to leave, along with an umbrella. (The latter turned out to be Sherlock Holmes themed, which, while unexpected, was delightful.)

The directions were concise and well-written. Perhaps being a police officer involved giving directions often, especially when a major highway ran through the town. Kind of like a gas station. I made a mental note not to apply for work at a local gas station until I was well-acquainted with the geography.

This line of thought continued and derailed fantastically during my drive to the school. By the time I got out of the truck and wielded my umbrella of True Justice, I was contemplating a degree in medicine with a minor in chemistry. (In case I met someone who accidentally ingested a dangerous chemical and needed emergency care.)

I was up to Sulphuric Acid jokes by the time I reached the main office.

The secretary had friendly brown eyes, a matronly smile, and a purple shirt. She introduced herself as Ms. Cope, handed me a map, a list of classes, and an attendance slip. We chatted for a little while, talking about the general layout of the school. It turned out that it had separate buildings, like my old school in Arizona. I had worried it would all be in one building; I knew a lot of high schools didn't have an actual campus. When I asked her about it she said that most single-building schools were toward the eastern part of the country. I nodded thoughtfully, and asked her about parking.

"Now you parked in the wrong lot, but don't worry, dear." Ms. Cope pointed to the map. "Here's the student parking lot. Most kids either take the bus or their parents drive them. It shouldn't be too difficult to find a spot." We went over my list of classes, "Sorry, you'll have to wait until next year if you want moved into Chemistry."

By the time I exited the office and drove into the parking lot, other students had started to arrive. I once again brought forth my umbrella of Justice, and found my way to Building 3, English. (It was relatively easy to find, due to my map, prior instructions, and the giant black "3" painted on the corner.)

Two girls hung up their coats on a row of pegs lining the wall. I copied them with my umbrella (which I would rebelliously continue to use, even if parkas and raincoats were all the rage here).

A casually dressed man named Mr. Mason was the teacher. He accepted my slip of paper, signing it with a flourish. I was given a reading list and pointed to the back of the class.

I only half-listened to the teacher tear apart a chapter of Jane Eyre. I wasn't fond of English classes. I loved reading more than any other activity, but to turn it into a science was a sin in my book. (I could make a few puns here that would make you giddy as a drunk, but I'll abstain.) I took a few notes if it sounded important enough to be on a test, and spent the rest of my time sketching.

At the end of class, a boy sitting next to me leaned over. His hair was black, and looked as though it had been gelled and run through a hair straightener. The effect would have been cool, but it made his hair look somewhat oily. "Isabella Swan, right?"

"Bella, unless you'd prefer to call me Isabella Marie. Miss Swan is acceptable, though, as is Bella Donna."

He adopted businesslike tone and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Prima Donna. I'm Eric Yorkie, but you can call me Professor Rick-Rock or Yorkie-Dog, if you'd like."

I nodded seriously and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Yorkie-Dog."

He finally let out a wide grin. "Darn, no one ever goes with Rick-Rock. Where's your next class?"

As our relative buildings for period two were right across from each other, he offered to walk me to my next class. It was a bit further than I would have liked so early in the morning. I made a mental note to invest in a coffee thermos.

Classes went by in more or less the same manner, however I didn't learn anyone else's name until lunch. While in line, a wildly curly-haired brunette introduced herself as Jessica. I vaguely recalled her from a previous class. When she asked if I'd like to sit at her table, I accepted happily enough, but regretted it somewhat upon noticing Yorkie sitting across the room.

Jessica and Lauren, a girl with platinum blonde hair, were the general conversationalists at our table. Another girl named Angela sat with us, but spent most of her time engrossed in comics. I couldn't blame her. I didn't dislike the girls, but their only topics of conversation seemed to revolve around bad haircuts, bad relationships, and bad clothing.

I let my gaze wander about the room and stopped cold.

In a corner of the room, sitting away from everyone else, were the poster children of Uncanny Valley. They were pale as snow with perfectly clear complexions, without any sign of cosmetics. Bruise-like shadows framed dark eyes. Perfectly still, perfectly clear, they were marble statues; out of place in a high-school cafeteria, out of place...

A memory cropped up from my childhood. I was in Kindergarten on my first field trip. We had gone to a play park, and I was having fun on the swings until the other children arrived. I wasn't used to seeing a lot of people then, I only knew the children in my class.

Each and every one of those new children looked the same to me, somehow. It was frightening, being surrounded by these strangers. After a few minutes, the initial shock wore off, and I could differentiate the children by hair and clothing. For the next several years I still had trouble recognising new friends, and that technique really helped me avoid embarrassment.

I thought I'd grown out of that years ago. It was depressing to have to resort to my old method. It was useful though; I was presented with a change both immediate and jarring. It seemed strange that they had appeared so alike to me. One of the boys looked like a body builder, with closely cropped, curly hair. Another boy had dark golden hair; he was dressed business casual, somehow with a business casual way of lounging in his seat. The third boy had hair like copper. He was smaller than the others and dressed similarly to the golden-haired boy, only wearing more beige tones.

(A statistic showing beige tones to seem friendlier entered my mind, and I wondered briefly if he'd adopted the colour on purpose.)

One of the girls looked... Well, like she had just come from a photoshoot, but there was something off about that thought. Models usually wore a lot of make-up; all of these teenagers were clearly cosmetic-free. She was simply beautiful, with a curvy figure and gently wavy blonde hair. The other girl was tiny, with dark black hair in a pixie-cut. Like the others, she was dressed very fashionably.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, the pixie-girl rose swiftly. She walked quickly and gracefully to empty her tray― her food was untouched. I looked back toward the others, and they too had not eaten their food.

Too-perfect features, and they don't eat food.

Robots? Artificial intelligence?

Doubt it.

Then _what?_

I turned to the nearest gossip, conveniently sitting right next to me. "Hey, uh... Jessica?" _Please be the right name._ "Who are they?" I nodded casually over to the table, only to be embarrassed: the copper-haired boy looked up just as Jessica did, and caught us staring.

He looked away even more quickly than I did; that split-second was enough time for me to see him doing so. I was so disturbed by the quick motion that I didn't blush; I could feel the blood draining from my face.

Jessica giggled, turning back to the table. "That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Jasper and Rosalie Hale! There's another Cullen, Alice, but she already left." The embarrassment fled away as she grasped the gossip; the hushed words gushed forth. "They all live with Doctor Cullen and his wife, who adopted them. They're _gorgeous, _obviously, but get this! They're all together. Like, _together, _together. Alice and Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie. And they _live_ together!" Her voice climbed in a barely restrained squeal; her eyes were bright and joyous with condemnation.

Mental note: Do _not_ get on Jessica's bad side.

Adopted children? I supposed that Doctor Cullen could be a scientist... Could robots be romantic, at least toward one another? _Or they could be Aliens. _Clearly, the other teenagers here translated Uncanny Valley into attractiveness. I swiftly glanced over to the table again. _Okay. I can see it._

"What about the other one?" I asked.

"_Edward?_" She scoffed. "No, but there aren't any girls _here_ good enough for him."

_Maybe he's only into other robots or aliens?_

"Have they always lived here?" I think I'd have noticed them on my visits.

"No, they moved down two years ago from Alaska."

I frowned, distracted from my imaginings. There was something wrong with that statement. They have lived here for a full two years. If people thought they were so pretty... "They look like they keep to themselves." I pointed out. _(How did they all end up in the same lunch period, anyway?)_

She shrugged, "I don't know, I guess so. Besides, they're kind of... well... intimidating, I guess."

Maybe their isolation was self-imposed. More likely, the other kids were either disconcerted by their too-perfect features, or simply less confident around pretty people. Most people prefer to be around those they consider to be equals.

Once more I looked to the table. This time the boy with copper hair was already staring in our direction. His expression was curious. Had he realised we were speaking about him?

"Who's the boy with the reddish hair?" I asked, still meeting his gaze. He'd already seen me, and it's not like he could have heard us.

"Edward. The one who doesn't date, so don't get your hopes up." She rolled her eyes.

The boy started to smile and turned away.

_Whoa. Did he hear us? Super hearing? Is it part of his robot-programming?_

I mentally kicked myself. I was now _beyond _carried away; I had already floated half-way through the stratosphere. There was no _way_― well, nearly no way― that they were robots. He could just be friendly. Or, perhaps...

Nervous. He may not like the attention, he may feel embarrassed. Just because he had flawless features and smiled at us, didn't mean he wasn't worried about what we were talking about.

I was being rude on every level and I felt it. I could have ruined someone's day. I needed to check, needed to reassure him, just in case...

"I think I'm going to go talk to them." I stated, turning back to Jessica.

She gawked. "_What?"_

I smiled brightly, stood up, and started toward the table. Edward was already facing in my direction, as were the rest of his family. They all wore the same politely puzzled expression.

My shyness fought my New-Town-New-Life courage, screaming things about immanent humiliation. I ignored the feeling; I deserve a bit of humiliation or worry. Once is once, tit for tat; all transactions must be equivalent.

"Hi, I'm Bella Swan, but I'm open to insulting nicknames," I smiled, mentally cringing. I really need to stop relying on bad humour for comfort. "I'm new here. I was just talking to another girl and she said you were somewhat new as well."

I paused, trying to figure out how to continue without being insulting.

_[I noticed that you don't seem to have friends]?_

_[Don't worry, your beauty doesn't threaten me]?_

_[I didn't want my excessive staring to put you ill at ease. I'm sure you are very cool, and possibly robots, which would be cooler]?_

I simply smiled. Safe enough.

Three hideous seconds ticked by.

Then the honey-blonde boy stood up and offered his hand. "Ah, yes, Bella Swan? Nice to meet you, Miss. I'm Jasper Hale." The soft, melodic tone of his voice put me at ease instantly. As I shook his hand, I noticed his palm was pleasantly cool. "This is my sister, Rosalie," the blonde girl nodded once, unsmiling. "And my two foster brothers, Emmett and Edward Cullen."

The bodybuilder stood up with a grin and walked around the table to shake my hand. How old were these kids, forty?

_My robot theory seems_― _Wait, no, rude. Bad. Okay._

"Emmett Cullen, nice to meet you." Before I could reply, there was a great grinding of metal on linoleum.

The other boy, Edward, had pushed away from the table. His smile had been replaced with a blank, cold expression. He rose and turned in a swift motion that made me flinch. In the next breath, he made a beeline for the door, emptied his tray, and left.

_Uh._

"Don't mind him. He's a stickler for getting to class on time," Jasper said. This was comforting; I had been worried that I'd offended Edward.

"Oh, that makes sense. Is class starting soon?" I dug out my schedule.

"Hey Jasper, we're taking off. Nice to meet you, Bella." Emmett pulled back the chair for the blonde girl, and they left. (No, seriously, how old are these people?)

"What class do you have next?" asked Jasper.

"Uh..." I glanced over my schedule. "Biology II with Banner."

His smile seemed a little fixed. "Ah. Edward's there now. Too bad he left so soon. I'll walk you there. It's not far from my next class."

As I followed him, I noticed Jessica and Lauren staring in my direction with wide eyes. They were whispering frantically.

_Ah._ This was going to be a long, awkward year... entirely by my fault.


	2. Biological Warfare

**Disclaimer: My dear reader, do use your common sense! The books wouldn't have sold half as well if _I'd_ written them!**

**Chapter Two: Biological Warfare**

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><p>Despite his eloquent introduction, Jasper Hale was a fairly quiet person. I wasn't tempted to press for conversation during our walk. The silence between us was comfortable; a relief after my somewhat hectic first day.<p>

We reached my building and exchanged brief goodbyes. As he walked away, the calmness faded with him. Though I only had Biology and Gym left, it seemed like a terribly long time before I could go home.

With a churning stomach I handed the Biology teacher my attendance slip, trying to place the feeling of dread.

"Ah, Isabella Swan." He handed me a book. "There's an empty seat by Edward," he pointed to a table in the back of the room.

As I locked eyes with Edward Cullen, the dread crashed through me at full-force. He looked so...

"Okay," I kept my voice level. I walked over, sat down, and Mr. Banner began the lesson.

I concentrated as hard as I could on the lecture, taking notes with trembling hands in minute detail, and tried to ignore the boy next to me. I was not brave enough to look at him again.

When I saw him across that classroom, Cullen was glaring at me with evident fury and disgust.

I let my hair fall in a curtain between us, long enough to leave no gaps. It formed a shield so complete that, when I slouched over, it covered a portion of the table. Thank goodness my mother talked me out of hair-cuts for the past several years.

I didn't want to be faced with that expression. I never wanted to see it again. I didn't let myself dwell on the meaning behind it; didn't dwell upon those furrowed brows, those narrowed eyes―

I needed to get through the lecture, get through gym, and _get __the __hell __out __of __here._ I would have time to think when I was safe at home with Charlie.

Time dragged on. I took notes.

The tension ate away at me, and when the lesson was nearly over, I simply had to peek. I pushed my hair behind my ear and gave a quick, inconspicuous glance in his direction, disguising it by looking at a chart on the wall behind him.

Although I knew he would still be staring at me, I wasn't prepared. Without my noticing, he had drawn his chair closer yet to my own. He was mere inches away, his fist balled tight near my elbow. His face was no longer glaring, but intent.

My breath sucked in a quiet gasp. I whirled back toward my paper. _So __much __for __inconspicuous._

Concentrating was impossible at that point. I was too nervous to reach up and untuck my hair again. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed once or twice his lips part, as though to speak. If I looked at him, he would clamp his mouth shut and resume staring.

Finally, his hand unclenched.

There was a soft whisper, "Bella―?"

―Just in time for the bell to ring. I grabbed my book and stood, but before I could turn toward the door, I felt a cool hand on my elbow.

"Bella," he repeated. His voice was soft and melodic. "Bella, may I walk you to your next class?"

My breathing hitched and my mind blanked.

"If you would prefer not, I'd understand. You probably think me to be terribly rude. I will not insult you by making excuses; please forgive my behaviour." He said all this in a smooth, sure tone. My eyes finally met his, moving on their own volition. Once more, he surprised me; this time with a kind smile. I noticed his eyes were the colour of butterscotch.

He met my gaze, taking it as permission to continue. "Allow me to start over again. My name is Edward Cullen. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mechanically, I shook his offered hand. "Nice to meet you, Edward." Though my brain stuttered, somehow my voice didn't.

"What class do you have next?"

"Gym."

"Would you allow me the honour of escorting you?"

My brain spluttered and my mouth spat, "Pff-what-sure? I mean, okay? What? Yes." _Smooth._

He flashed me a thousand-kilowatt smile and offered his arm.

_Uhm..? _My brain worked frantically for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. _Take his arm, idiot!_

Right.

My eyes remained locked on his face. When had he become so beautiful? No, wait, how had I ever seen him as anything _but_ the most beautiful creature to-

Creature...

The image warped for a second. There was a moment when I had a similar feeling to when I realised I was asleep in the middle of a dream.

"Something wrong, Miss Swan?" Back into the haze. His smile was so disarming, it took me a moment to gather my wits.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I couldn't even recall my own thoughts. I took a deep breath; what strange cologne he must have been wearing. It smelled nicer than anything in the world. Why hadn't I noticed it before?

I coughed and stumbled slightly. He held firmy to my arm. "Bella? Are you—"

That was it. It was on his breath. That scent. It smelled so pretty, but it was so heavy, like walking into a perfume shop. It was... asphyxiating.

The lights started to dim. My knees gave under me.

"EDWARD! _BELLA!_" The scream should have hurt my ears, but it was all a dream. Whose voice was it?

Something like concern flickered. She had sounded frightened.

A small woman lifted me. I had been on the ground.

"Bella? _Bella!" _Mom? No, that wasn't the voice.

The smell had changed; similar, but softer so I could breathe. I still couldn't move. It was too late. My mind was already sliding into the dark and could only gain momentum.

An object will remain in motion.

The last thing I saw was the pixie-cut girl's petrified face.


	3. The White Road

**Disclaimer: Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. Either way, I still won't be making money off this. The world isn't so nice.**

**Chapter Three: The White Road**

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><p><em>"Be bold,<em>

_be bold, _

_but not too bold."_

English Fairy Tales,_"Mr. __Fox"_

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><p>There were voices, both hushed and raised. I could hear them, but my focus slipped whenever I tried to hear the words. There was a warm palm on my forehead; the heady, perfumed scent replaced by something softer, the smell of coffee and make-up. I was on a cold surface; each small movement was met with the crackle of thin paper. Even without my wits about me, the sound and texture informed me I was in the Nurse's office, on an examining... bed? board? I struggled to think of the correct word, and it was enough to drag me back from the depths.<p>

Table. It was "table", an examining table. The more I thought of the word "table", the less it seemed like a real word.

I opened my eyes, and the headache, eye ache, limb ache, everything ache hit with full force. "Ughhhh... ow."

"Isabella?" The school nurse felt my forehead again; concern lined her face.

"Yeah, it's fine, uh, ma'am." I blinked several times. "What's going on?"

She clicked her tongue. "Allergic to Edward Cullen's cologne, it seems. You fainted dead in the walkway between classes! I must say, it was quite a sight to see that little Alice carry you in here; did you know she did gymnastics? Those kids really are something." Seeing her patient unharmed, she spoke cheerfully. She helped me off the table and told me to try walking around the room.

After the head-rush passed, I found my balance, though my legs still wobbled a bit. "Am I free to go?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, maybe it would be better if you waited for a bit before you tried driving home. Edward carried in your books, and it had your schedule on it; I hope you don't mind I excused you from gym."

I nodded calmly, mentally shouting and crying praises to the beautiful merciful goddess that was the school nurse.

There was a soft rapping at the door; I jolted slightly upon noticing the pixie girl's face on the other side of the glass.

"Yes, yes, come in dear." The nurse opened the door. "I don't know why I let you convince me to excuse you though, Miss." She smiled amicably, in a maternal sort of way.

"It was _my_idiot brother who decided to take a bath in perfume stink. The least I could do was wait to see if she needed a ride home." Alice skipped over to me and took my hand. "My name is Alice Cullen! Sorry about him. It's so nice to meet you, Bella! You look a lot better now. I will drive you home if you want. I can pick you up in the morning too, if you're worried about your car. Oh! My family said you introduced yourself at lunch! Jasper said, 'Oh, Bella's very funny. Sweet girl. You'd like her." I wish I'd been there to meet you, too! It would be great if we could become friends!" She was bouncing from her excitement, speaking so quickly that I could only stare at her dumbly. _How __on __earth__ can __this __woman __breathe?_

"Oh! Is she okay to go yet? Maybe we should sit outside. It's a bit warmer out now and the fresh air should do her good. If that's okay with you, Bella? Oh! You're from Phoenix though, yes? It might feel too cold—"

The nurse interrupted her. "Yes, yes, it's fine. No need for both of you to stay in this little room anyway," she opened the door and ushered us out into the hallway. "If it's too cold, Bella, feel free to wait in the office instead." The nurse had adopted my nickname; perhaps it was because of Alice.

Alice, who had now taken me by one arm and my books by the other, fairly dragged me out the door in her excitement. I could smell that same, light smell from earlier; it was pleasant, but quickly drowned out by the scent of rain. I looked toward the clouds. It was certainly darker outside now, but Alice had been right about it being warmer. We sat, silently now, on a wooden bench several paces outside the school offices, listening to the patter of raindrops on the overhang above. I was mesmerised by the wall of fog that swept forward between the trees beyond the student car lot.

"I'm really glad we moved here, you know," Alice said softy, her attention also focused on the forest. "You just wait until winter. It's a fairy-land. It makes me miss Alaska, though."

I was surprised by the turn of conversation. "You're from Alaska, then?" She nodded with a distant smile.

"Yes, two years ago. We lived there for about five years; before that we lived in Chicago. Alaska was Jasper's favourite. I never understood why; we didn't live close to any cities." She smiled sheepishly. "I like to shop."

I smiled at an image of Alice skipping through a shopping center. I could visualise the scene perfectly. "You'll have to tell me about the city, someday. Maybe we can compare Chicago to the shops up near Seattle," I said carefully. _S__he __said __she __wanted __to __be __friends, __but..._

Her head snapped back toward me in surprise, but her eyes glittered in excitement. "Yes! Absolutely!" She was the very image of joy; one would think I had announced world peace! Her smile was contagious, though; I was happy too.

"So how did Alaska grow on you? You said you didn't understand it?"

Alice nodded toward the forest. "When you're in a city long enough, it's hard not to appreciate a bit of wildlife." It was a simple reason, and one I understood. We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the rain start to fall more heavily. Sometimes a breeze would go by, sweeping waves of mist and raindrops back in curtains.

I was the first to break the silence. "I can't believe I fainted just because a boy wore cologne. How embarrassing."

Alice laughed. "It's okay, he's way more embarrassed than you, trust me."

"I... don't think he likes me very much. I talked to your family a bit in lunch, but when we got to class... I mean, I'm sorry if it sounds rude, he just seemed pretty angry until the end, but suddenly he was all polite, and—"

"Yes, yes, Edward's a weirdo. My family can back you up on that." She laughed and stood from her seat. "He's awesome though, he's only weird and angsty around people he doesn't know well; you'll probably be in his poem-diary tonight. Seriously though, he's my best friend. You should get to know him a little more. Once he calms down, I think you'd like him." I wondered what it was about this family; it was hard to be uncomfortable around them, except Edward, perhaps. _Why __don't __they __have __more __friends?_

"Anyway, school's letting out soon; Jasper is riding with the others today, he already texted me. Let's get going." I blinked in confusion for a moment, then blushed furiously once I caught her meaning.

"You were serious about that? It's okay, I'm fine, I can drive myself."

"No, no, I know," she waved her hand, as though to brush away the thought. "I just wanted an excuse to talk to you more." She grinned; once more, I couldn't help but smile back.

I stood up as well, about to ask where she had parked, when I saw her smile had frozen in place. I followed her eyes toward the school, seeing nothing. "Alice, what's—" I began to say, before I saw Edward stride around one of the buildings. I couldn't see his expression.

Alice took my arm and started dragging me again. "He can drive his own car, don't worry about him. Rose and Em will go with him, Jazz too. You're hungry, I'm sure you want to get home to eat," she said distractedly.

My stomach chose that moment to growl. "Well, yes. How—"

We arrived at the car. "If you talked with my family at lunch, you probably didn't have much time to eat?" Alice sat in the driver's seat. "Take the passenger side. By the way, what kind— Oh." I had just shut myself in; I looked reflexively toward her. My hand froze on the door handle. Alice rolled down her window, looking somewhat miffed. "Hello, Edward."

"Hello, Alice." He learned forward to eye level, his eyes falling on me with a soft, curious expression. "...Isabella." My breath caught in my throat. He straightened, speaking to Alice with a winning smile. "I was thinking, you know. Her being ill was entirely my fault, wasn't it? Why don't I drive her home?" His voice was smooth, compelling. "The smell was only on my jacket, after all. I'm sure it would be fine now. We could keep the windows open." He appealed to me, then. "What do you say, Isabella?"

"Bella," I said, my lips moving before my mind.

"Bella," he amended blithely.

"Bella?" Alice asked. "What about—"

"Now now, Alice, you can't monopolise the new girl. Regardless, it's her choice." I couldn't see her face, but her shoulders stiffened.

"You're right. It would be a shame if you couldn't trust someone to make their own choice," she said. The conversation seemed stilted; I knew there must have been some subtext, but it was lost on me.

He stared at her intently; I wished furtively that I were better at reading facial expressions. _That's __what __I __get __for __being __a __book __nerd, __I __suppose. __Must __continue __speaking __with _real _people __more __often._ I looked at the two beautiful siblings again. _Though, __they __seem __like __they __should __be __fictional._

"You can trust me." I snapped out of my reverie. His gaze was turned to me, now. Had he been looking at me before, when he said that?

_Self-absorbed,_ I criticised myself; my face coloured in contrition.

"See?" he smiled victoriously.

"Uh," I said eloquently. "Okay." Once more, my mouth moved on auto-pilot. For some ridiculous reason, I _did_ want to go with him; I wanted to know why he seemed angry at me, and why his demeanour had changed so drastically. On the other hand, the much much _heavier _hand, it was awful to ditch Alice. "Actually, can't we all go together? Or something?"

"Oh, Alice and I both ride different cars."

My mind scrambled. "Uh, you're both welcome to hang out at my house for a while?"

"One of us has to drive the others home." His smile widened.

"I'll just drive myself and see you tomorrow in school?" I was feeling more anti-social with each second; being put on the spot for decision-making did not help.

"As someone who caused you to faint I must ask that you please accept a ride."

Alice broke out of her silence. "Edward, stop being so contrary. She'll ride with me and we can meet at the house, if Bella would like to visit our home instead?" She didn't seem very happy about it. _I __am __so __confused._

My brain collected itself long enough for me to form a coherent sentence. "Are you sure I won't be an imposition?"

"Nonsense. Didn't you hear us fighting over the pleasure of your company?" It was Edward who spoke this time. To my surprise, he actually seemed a bit put-out. Was he disappointed over my not driving with him, or because of my question? "Though the offer stands, if you'd like to ride in my car instead."

_I __am __so __so __confused. __It __is __the __first __day __of __school. __I __talked __to __strangers. __I __talked __to __really __very __beautiful __strangers. __A __boy __hated __me __and __then __took __my __arm __and __we __walked __and __I __fainted __like __a __lady __in __a __movie. __Now __I __have __a __new __friend, __and __she __and __her __brother __are __fighting __over __my __custody. __What __is __my __life. __What __is __Forks. __What __are __these __people?_

My vivacious New Girl, New Town Courage© drained out of me. In the past ten minutes I had reverted back into being a girl who sits alone at lunch and feels nervous when ordering from fast-food menus. Perhaps if I still had my Umbrella of True Justice, I could find my strength.

Just then, there was a tapping at my window. _Speak __of __the __devil._ Jasper stood outside my door with one hand in is pocket; he was twirling my umbrella. I stepped out to meet him, accepting it gratefully.

"I'll need to get one of those," he said with a smile. "Felt like Gene Kelly, dancing along in the rain."

"He was, it was awful." The lovely blonde girl from earlier appeared then, holding hands with... Emmett, his name was.

She turned to face Edward. "We need to stop by the college. Drive with Alice, I'm borrowing your car."

"Yes ma'am," he agreed instantly, holding out his keys. The girl— Rosalie— stared at him suspiciously.

Alice thwacked the steering wheel. "Oh, hell with it. Edward, get in the car."

* * *

><p><strong>SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON<strong>

The walls were cracked and peeling. Strips of old wallpaper moulded with blotches of pitch black and threaded white. Some of the ceiling had long since started to cave in; the floor of a closet in the corner inches thick with putrid sludge that had once been rainwater and melted flakes of clean snow.

The carpet was coated with grime and varying in colour, as though painted by a mad artist who chose to work only with droppings and decayed unknowables. Something that must have undoubtedly been a mattress sat in the room, taking up nearly half the space. It was partially covered with a sheet, which was riddle with holes and stains of dubious origin.

Sitting on the mattress was a well-dressed man and a corpse. The man's face was smeared with blood, as was the corpses neck.

The corpse twitched and its mouth jerked open in a spasm; it gave a shuddering moan.

"Shh," the man hushed, pushing a lock of the corpse's hair behind its ear.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gene Kelly's "Singing in the Rain" belongs to whatever company owns it. Go look the song up on youtube, it's awesome.**


	4. Changes

**A/N 1: Unfortunately, I didn't realise Bella moved to Forks in _mid-January. _Can anyone explain why she didn't have a winter jacket? Goodness! For all intense and porpoises, it's early October.**

**Disclaimer: Oh! you pretty things. I don't own Twilight and am not making any money off this. Sigh.**

**Chapter Four: Changes**

* * *

><p>I called Charlie to inform him of my plans— he knew of the Cullens, incidentally. Their father, the doctor, seemed to have quickly established a respectable reputation. As for Alice and the rest, Charlie was pleased with how well-behaved they were (i.e., he never had to meet with them in his line of work). He had no problems with my visiting them, and he was glad I was making friends so quickly.<p>

"I was a little worried, Bells." His voice was crackled and oddly-pitched; Forks had terrible reception. "Uh... I know you like your books, and before, well, you didn't like playing with the other kids around here much, so uh... I'm proud of you, kid."

I didn't tear up; that would have to wait for the safety of solitude in my room. However, hearing that Charlie had actually noticed how hard I was trying, had noticed and _remembered_ from all those years ago...

With Edward in the car and Alice being none-too-pleased about it, a tense awkwardness wound itself within the car, thick and tangible. Fortunately, the windows were open in case I reacted to any lingering smell of Edward's cologne. The clean air rushing through the cracks calmed me; I'd normally feel panicked in a situation like this. Additionally, it created a white noise effect. Being that as it was, even though my environment would have allowed for socially acceptable silence, I pushed at those barriers between us. Charlie had _noticed._

I needed to keep trying.

Nonverbal Communication Tip #1: Body position. I twisted myself around in my seat, so I was facing diagonally between Alice in the front seat and Edward behind her. Chatting with Alice alone would normally be the extent of my social efforts, but I wanted to _really_ try.

I tried to think of something to talk about. The afore-blessed air rushing in the windows would make including Edward difficult, and I didn't want that; it would be uncomfortable, it wouldn't be nice.

_Solved easily enough, _I thought to myself. I saw Edward look up with interest as I turned back toward his sister. "Alice? I'm going to roll up my window. I'll let you know if I feel faint or anything, but it's getting a little chilly out."

"Oh!" She blinked, then rolled up her window as well. "Edward, can you get the other window back there? Leave yours down, though."

_Wow. I didn't expect that mission to go so well. Bonus!_

Edward complied with a slight smile. "Yes ma'am, as you like." He looked toward me and asked, "Not used to the cold weather, Bella?"

_Another mission complete? _3 of 4 windows were down, I could hear Edward perfectly clearly, and now we had conversation material. I was a bit put-out at not having to try harder. _Then again, it's only the weather._

He raised his eyebrows; I realised I'd been zoning out. "Uh, yeah. Yes. It's nice though; I just wish I thought to wear a sweater today."

"Is your jacket insufficient?"

I smiled. "It was built to keep rain off, not to keep heat in. I haven't had to shop for this kind of thing on my own before; I used to only visit Forks during the summer..." I bit down on my lip, recalling why I normally avoided making new friends: I had a tendency to embarrass myself or reveal overly personal things. _Two in one. How many more to bingo?_

He laughed. Well, he didn't _laugh-_laugh, I just saw his shoulders shake a bit. More importantly, it didn't seem like a _mean_ laugh and that's all I really cared about.

Alice spoke up, "We'll have to fix that! Oh, we could go to Seattle," I inwardly cringed, imagining the cost of gas. "There's this little shop there I really like. They actually make everything by hand," my blood turned cold, imagining the price tags. "Oh! And I bought another new jacket there last week, it's at home though, I'll show you; the inner-layer is very soft," my teeth itched; I had dish-washer's hands: dry skin + soft fabric is a no-no. "_Oh!_ And maybe—!"

Edward broke in, "Maybe you should just let her borrow one, Alice. You have more than enough to spare, surely, and a temporary solution would be preferable." His voice was _stern_; it sounded nearly ridiculous coming from a teenage boy. All the same, I was grateful for his interference.

Alice seemed _thrilled._ "Oh, Bella! I know just the right one, too! You can keep it! It would be like a welcoming gift, I think you'd really like—"

"No." My reply shunted itself forward without input from my brain; my tone was completely wrong. I scrambled to correct my _faux pas_, "I mean, that's _really_ nice of you, and I'd love to borrow it, but I don't like gifts very much, so..." My voice trailed off, and I found myself staring desperately at Edward, trying to figure out the correct "meaningful look" for another intervention. Somehow, thankfully, I seemed to get my point across.

"Just let her borrow one until the weekend, Alice? Maybe you could head up to Port Angeles, they just opened up a new thrift store. Didn't you say you wanted to visit it?"

Alice sighed, "Would you feel too bored if we went to a thrift store, Bella? I do have a few things I meant to drop off, we could find a nice shop after..."

I bit my tongue and counted to three, carefully not looking at either Edward or Alice. I spent another several seconds to _think _about what I wanted to say before speaking. "Actually, I like shopping in thrift stores. I... typically only wear hand-me-downs or clothing I had gotten for holidays. So if I'm actually going to buy myself a new raincoat, a thrift store would be more... economic. I'd prefer it that way. I still like window shopping at other places, though."

Alice frowned. "Bella, are you _sure_ I can't just give you one of my jackets? Or perhaps buy you one? I don't want to make you feel badly, quite the opposite." Her voice seemed a little deeper now, as though she had aged several years. Her manner of speech drifted into being consoling, reassuring; there were definite overtones of persuasion, pointedly perceptible but not presuming.

Edward laughed then; the noise was so unexpected that I actually jumped in my seat. I swiveled around and looked between him and Alice several times; she appeared every bit as bemused as I felt.

"Sorry, Alice," he said quietly after calming himself. "But you've just met the girl; give her some time before you give her presents, really. What's the phrase, 'Dinner and a movie first'?"

Alice puckered her lips sourly, retorting: "That phrase is commonly used in a different context, for something quite more disgusting. However..." She furrowed her brows, the rest of her face softening, "you've made your point well enough. I apologise, Bella. I'm not very good with social formalities."

I laughed, somewhat alarmed. "Oh no. No no, it's fine; I'm bad at them too. I'm the one who should apologise; I probably wasn't very clear." Alice and I exchanged apologetic yet politely condescending smiles.

Edward, sensing the need for a change in conversation, requested Alice put in a CD. The rest of the drive filled with comfortable chat about music. I discovered that most of the Cullens were musical in some way; their parents insisted they take music lessons as children, but only Alice and Edward kept up with them now. I was envious; my mother had only sent me to ballet classes, which I loathed.

Edward was an experienced and highly involved piano player. I listened to him with a quiet awe, feeling like a child listening to a lecture in an amphitheater. He didn't speak pompously, even though I was entirely unfamiliar with the subject of music theory and classics. He spoke clearly and eloquently, answering every question that popped into my head, never minding any interruption. In short, I decided that I liked talking with Edward Cullen about music.

"I generally spend my sessions building improvisations or variations upon Chopin, but there are plenty of excellent modern day musicians; I find more music to play each day," he gestured toward the front of the car. "I've been working on transcribing this CD in particular. You can usually find sheet music in stores or on the internet, but I prefer figuring it out for myself—"

"Pardon me," I interrupted. "Transcribing?"

"He means figuring out what they're playing, and writing sheet music for it. At least, that's what most people do; he just memorises it," Alice explained, her voice pitching into a tone of complaint.

"That's really incredible," I said.

"He's just too lazy to write it down, don't feed his ego."

"Don't listen to her, Bella. She's the lazy one; she wants my sheet music so she can play the same songs on cello."

"Don't listen to him, Bella. I can get the same sheet music in any store, which he well knows."

"Don't listen to her, Bella; there are some bands you can't find sheet music for. Like this one."

"Don't listen to him, Bella—"

The bickering ended only with the car ride. We turned off the main road and into a hidden driveway of gravel which wound within thick woods. The boughs of the trees sheltered our path, forming a canopy of semi-darkness. We drove for several minutes in silence, before the road abruptly broke through the treeline and transformed into cobbled white limestone.

The stones were a jumble of geometry; none of them seeming to be the same size or even quite the same _shape; _there was no repetition. I could name a few general shapes, like irregular triangles, hexagons, trapezoids, but... half of them were _curved!_ Crescents, eclipses, ovals, curvilinear triangles, _quatrefoils_, and so many others I couldn't place. Despite this, they were placed together seamlessly into a single path. If I didn't look at a specific stone, I could relax my eyes and see larger shapes; letters spelling out words in a language I could not read.

The clouds on the horizon were lighter now; hazier than earlier. The glare of the setting sun glanced off the inlays of the white road, creating a sparkling stream of pastel oranges and pinks. I blinked back a sudden sting in my eyes, blaming the light, though it was soft.

"Welcome home," Alice said softly in a sing-song voice. We drove up to the gate, which was built into a stone wall topped by an intricate iron wrought fence. Beyond this, I could see the upper-level of a white stone... château? Mansion? It seemed smaller than a mansion, but the build of it seemed too... fancy. Maybe it was the white stone? I didn't know enough of architecture to place it.

Edward sprang out of the car to open the gate for Alice, who led us into a small lot in the corner of the property. I barely noticed Edward rejoin us; I barely noticed myself step out of the car. I couldn't get over the sheer _beauty_ of the place. Of the _garden_.

Though the house was beautiful, I had seen many like it from driving through upper-class neighbourhoods around Phoenix. But the _garden. _I immediately thought of my favourite childhood book, _The Secret Garden. _Although it was too late in the season for most flowers and bulbs, this garden was devoid of naught; it seemed to be _designed_ for welcoming October.

My mother had delved into gardening for a short while, littering our house with magazines; I could recognise the pumpkin patch, filled with other squashes; pathways lined with bustling beds of poppies the colour of a burning summer California sunset. Chrysanthemums of rusted reds, joyful yellows, intersected by paths of pale lavender and white asters. They were watered by a clear, dazzling stream that splashed in a shallow, pebbly rivet, twisting this way and that between peach and dogwood trees, before disappearing behind an aged willow. We walked the limestone path through such sights; we went across a wooden bridge crossing the steam, topped with a series of latticed archways. The diamond patterns were entwined with withering vines which I could not place, but dearly hoped might be roses.

Upon noticing how silent we had been up to this point, I tried to find my voice. I drew upon all my powers of eloquence, years of acquired vocabulary, knowledge of flowery speeches absorbed with an undying thirst, and every ability of poetic brevity; I eventually managed to breathe out: "Pretty."


	5. A Fleeting Dream

**A/N: Just a warning: there's a bit of time-skipping going along this chapter. We've reached into the past a little, and some events have not yet unfolded. We'll return to our regularly scheduled programme next chapter on the Bella Channel!**

**Disclaimer: Listen to my story. This... may be my last chance. I'm pretty sure Smeyer has nothing against fanfic, but you can't forsee when tides change.**

**Chapter Five: A Fleeting Dream**

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><p><strong>SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON:<strong>

"Why do you seem so sad, my dear?" His voice is gentle. "We've been working so hard; I think we finally have it! Please don't ignore me. I need your help!"

She says nothing, and continues staring out the window.

"Do you hate me now?" His voice is dejected. She is silent. "If you don't believe in me, believe in her. It's for her future. This isn't about you anymore. How can you be so cold?" He sounds angry; she turns to stare at him.

"It wasn't ever about me _or_ her. It never was. It's something else, isn't it."

He wisely says nothing, and she looks once more out the window. "...But you're all I have left."

She rises, adorns her filthy coat, and takes a small object from the table. The footfalls gradually tread out of the house; he watches as she steps onto the soft grass. Even from this distance, he can hear her mutter: "God forgive me."

* * *

><p><strong>Charlie — October 2nd<strong>

The canary-yellow cabinets are faded and splintering with age. In this lighting, the cabinets look as though a smoker had been staining them over the course of a decade. Which, actually, he had been; but the light was a bulb he found in the closet. This bulb, he thinks, may have been from the dark ages; it stained everything piss-yellow in his dull-yellow kitchen reflecting on stale-yellow cabinets to match his dull-yellow mood.

Charlie opened the kitchen window, turned on the ceiling fan, and lit a cigarette. He reflected that "yellow" had ceased to seem like a real word. He wished the overwhelming colour in the room would make "yellow" itself seem cease to exist.

Charlie wished his smoke would turn the kitchen gray.

Everything in his life was yellow, yellow, yellow, and he couldn't even see it; not until Harry Clearwater had visited last week, and bullied him into painting the outside of the house. (Pretty, pretty, pink on the outside; dull, crackly, yellow on the inside. Yellow yellow yellow...)

Bella, though— she had colour. He would have forgotten his yellow kitchen, perhaps, if Bella hadn't had so much colour.

_No,_ Charlie decided; _not __forgotten._ He just wouldn't see the point in change. _She'll be here tomorrow. Will it be enough? Can she be happy here? Would she even want to be?_

He looked about the room thoughtfully, then jabbed out his cigarette. He searched the closet for a different light bulb and changed the one in the kitchen; the room was still too yellow. He dug around further, coming up with a paint-scraper. The cabinets were wooden underneath; he couldn't believe he'd gone along with painting them. Back then, he just couldn't say no to Renée; couldn't refuse that bright, smiling face, that laugh, those exasperated sighs...

It didn't take very long for that to change.

* * *

><p>"Renée, you can't really mean for that," he said. She sighed directly into the phone; he winced at the sound. The phone cord would need replaced soon. It was fraying, making every breath shriek in static.<p>

"Charlie, she misses you."

He harrumphed, throwing a waffle into the toaster. "You're not serious," he repeated. "You wouldn't _seriously_ let her move this far away. Not permanently."

"She's growing up. It's her choice; I'd never keep her from doing what she wants."

"Oh, are we asking her opinion now?"

"She's never asked before."

"Bullshit. What happened to, _'She'll __never __learn __to __live __in __the __real __world __in __Forks'_ and _'Oh, __I __think __she'd __be __better __off __spending __this __summer __at __home'_?" he mocked. "Maybe you should stop telling her what she wants, and let her think for herself. Or is that not a part of living in the real world?"

"Don't be unreasonable. We always talk these things out—"

"Oh, and you've asked her opinion before giving yours, I'm sure," he stated bluntly. His breakfast popped out of the toaster.

She was silent for a moment. He bit into a waffle and chewed as loudly as he could.

"Are you eating?" _Oh, __she __sounds __annoyed. __That's __good. __Far better than that placid oh-I'm-so-all-suffering-and-maternal voice._

"Yesh."

"Charlie, please."

"Thish waffle..," _Gulp._ "-is delicious."

"Charlie, this is about your daughter. Please take this seriously."

"Ah, so I'm her father now? I thought you were trying to give Phil the post." He jammed his waffle back in the toaster. It had still been partially frozen.

"Phil... she doesn't really see him as a father. But they get along great."

"Does he see her as a daughter?"

"They get along great," she repeated.

Charlie realised he'd gone too far; even if he wanted to annoy Reneé, there was no need to bring Bella and Phil under scope. He searched his mind, "That's nice, uh, how's Phil's baseball going?" he said awkwardly.

Reneé said nothing for a long while. His waffle popped out of the toaster, and he clutched it like a life-raft. "Uh, wasn't he thinking of— Oh."

"He's got a contract, it's great. He's been traveling with his team."

"Oh," said Charlie. Then he groaned in disgust, "Oh, _really?_"

Reneé cut in, her words whistling out sharply like a tea-kettle under steam: "It's _not_ like that Charlie! I promise, she really _really_ wants to see you!" her voice broke.

Charlie backpedaled, "No, that's great Reneé. Uh, tell him I said 'congratulations'. Uh, Bella's always welcome here, she knows that." He shuffled the papers around the kitchen table, digging up a calendar. "So, uh, when's she coming up? I can pick her up, her room's still set up, I'll wash the sheets and, uh," he babbled.

"Next week."

"_Next week?" _He stopped himself, then continued in a normal tone. "That's wonderful. Lovely."

Reneé sighed in relief. Charlie took a bite of his waffle; it was still cold. "Uh, how's 'Thia?" he asked after her mother, then immediately realised that he was an _idiot._

"I'll ask you to not mention that harpy around me. You said Bella's room is already arranged?" Her voice was crystalised into pure ice.

"Yeah— oh, I'll need to make sure the wi-fi reaches the attic. I'll, uh, go do that now."

"I'll leave you to it." _Click._

He winced. _Badly done._

* * *

><p>Charlie finished scraping off the last layer of paint. <em>Ugh, I should have just kept my trap shut. At least I'll get to see my little girl... She's a teenager now, though.<em> He scoffed to himself. Like _he_ ever had trouble dealing with teenagers; least of all Bella.

He cleared up the paint chips. A few minutes of rummaging under the sink found some wood-polish. With a liberal application of elbow grease, the cedar cabinets were starting to gleam under the soft yellow light.

_What a nice, sunny colour,_ he thought to himself. He chuckled at the realisation of how easily a good thought could change his mood. _Good thoughts can be rare, though. Thank goodness for Bella._ He sat back in his chair and admired his work.

Within moments he was back on his feet. He puttered around the kitchen, then called Harry. A half hour later found the two of them (and Harry's son, Seth) outside the house to rake up leaves. He hummed a tune he'd heard on the radio; Seth joined in, skittering his rake around the yard like a mouse on caffeine.

Charlie had been so worried about Bella liking Forks; the work and the good company calmed him down. _If she likes it, she does. If not, then I'll make it better. I'm her dad. She wants to visit; said she missed me. I can trust Reneé on that much, right?_

**Charlie — October 3rd**

Charlie had gotten home early that evening. His partner was— though not the catalyst— the driving force.

"Hey. Hey. Charlie. Hey. Charlene." Her mouth twisted to the side, lips pursed. "No? Hey! Are you listening?"

"Of course I'm listening," said Charlie automatically.

"Lying is unbecoming of a keeper of the peace. You still worried about your kid?"

He had requested that she drive today, which was an oddity in itself. It was further troubling to see him so out of it: gazing out the window blankly, sipping _tea._

"Really man, stop worrying; you're blowing this _way_ out of proportion. Everyone will want to be friends with the new kid. I was a new kid once. I know these things."

Charlie snorted, then fell back into melancholy. "Moving to a new place for a job isn't the same, Arianna. She's young, and she's afraid of people— Oh, no." He pressed his palm to his forehead. "Last time I took her grocery shopping, I asked her to go back in the store for something— she cried. She could be crying in a bathroom right now-"

"You watch too many movies." She paused. "But, uh, has she seen a... guidance counselor? That doesn't sound too good."

Charlie groaned and let his forehead _thunk!_ against the window. "No."

"Ah. The old lady?"

"The young lady, actually. Well, supposubly."

"_Supposedly. _And we are not going there; no evil-ex conspiracy theories."

"_Hypotheses_," Charlie muttered.

"Oh, go get a Ph.D and stuff it."

"As you wish, Miss over-qualified-for-her-position. How many degrees do you have again? Let's see: English, Forensics, Criminal Justice..."

"Low blow, Charlie. Blame the patriarchal system."

"I've always had a healthy disrespect for authority."

Ari nodded, then said in a slightly louder voice: "Except our bosses, of course."

"Hail the supervisor overlords," intoned Charlie, taking a delicate sip of tea.

They drove in companionable silence for several minutes. Arianna turned off the main road, driving out of their usual patrol. Charlie asked what she was doing, should he drive?

"You're a wreck. Like, worse than the bike into the tree last week. Like a train wreck. Like an unending spiral of doom, sucking the masses into your gloom."

"I've been perfectly cheery."

"You're drinking _tea_." She bit out the last word like a curse.

Charlie was affronted. "I love tea. It's delicious."

"You usually only drink tea when you're overworked. Since you're not, I'm presuming you're stressed out. I've worked with you for two years now; I know these things." She turned onto another road; one Charlie knew intimately well.

"Hey, now. I've got three hours left on this shift, you don't think I'm going home and leaving you alone to—"

"I will happily derail this into a gender issue."

"That's not right, Ari. It's a serious problem. Didn't you just say—" He paused. "Oh. Nice derailing." He scratched under his neck. "But I can't just call off in the middle of a shift, what do you expect me to tell Dave?"

"Already taken care of. He told me to drop you off if you didn't look well."

"You mean, he said to _ask_ me."

"Details, details. Really though. You've been a mess for weeks; you even forgot to sign in this morning." They had reached the pink house by this time. She eased the car into the driveway. "I'll pick you up in the morning..." She trailed off, tapping on the dashboard distractedly. "Actually, would it be bad to leave you alone?"

He finally smiled. "I'm getting older every day; I can handle a little mess." He looked at his freshly-painted house. "I've been meaning to finish up my cleaning anyway."

Ari overcame her hesitation, saying in a burst "Maybe you should go out fishing or something instead, I mean, you've been going nuts with the home decorating, it's really_ unnerving_ and—"

Charlie broke in gruffly, "Harry and his kid have been helping me out with the yard-work; we fish on our downtime. Stop worrying. I'm a grown man, and I know how to take care of myself." He drank the last of his tea; it was bitter. The leaves had gathered at the bottom. He glanced at Ari and saw that she was wide-eyed, sitting stock-still in mortification.

He sharply regretted how cold he'd sounded. Even if he didn't like her coddling, he didn't want her feeling guilty about it. How would he feel if Bella talked to him like that? "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed. Thank you. I'll take your advice on this one; no hard work today."

Ari recovered herself. "Or driving. You didn't think you'd be calm enough to drive."

"And you noticed. You ought to have been a detective. Really."

"And miss out on the flashy lights? Hardly. Every day feels like Christmas!" she chirped cheerily, then abruptly kicked him out of the cruiser. "On with you. Watch TV. Read a book. Write science papers, or a novel, or whatever it is you do. Relax." With that, she revved the engine and peeled out of the driveway. Charlie noted that her rate of acceleration _excessively_ made up for staying within the speed limit.

A lone red leaf tumbled from a tree in her wake. Charlie stared at it, trying to take a sip from his now-empty tea.

_Does Halloween decorating count as taking it easy?_ he asked himself.

_Bella loves Halloween,_ he remembered.

And that decided that.

* * *

><p>Charlie was putting the final touches on the cobwebs when his mobile rang.<p>

**-Bella-**

He grinned as he answered, "Swan residence, Officer Swan. Please state your emergency."

"Hey Charlie."

"Hello Isabella Marie." He plopped onto the couch, sinking down, admiring a fluttering paper ghost attached to the ceiling fan cord. "No emergencies from you, I hope?"

"Well I _did _faint in school today— don't worry, walked to class with a guy who was wearing cologne!— anyway, he and his sister are inviting me to visit them. Is that okay?"

Charlie frowned. "Who is he?"

"Alice and Edward Cullen. They're really... nice. Alice is great, she offered to drive me home and pick me up in the morning because of the whole fainting thing."

_Ah, the Cullens._ He smiled to himself. "I don't see any problems with it, if you really want to go. Doctor Cullen is a good man; half the town had a good word for him in the first week. Works like a dog, always happy to see anyone. He fixed up my knee last spring, you remember?"

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that."

"Yeah, Carlisle Cullen was the doctor. Haven't had a lick of trouble from the kids, either." _Which is a miracle in this day and age._ "Uh... You sure you want to go though? I know you don't like going out much, I can give you an excuse if you want. Just got done decorating; I can nag you to come home and bake a pumpkin pie."

To his surprise, Bella laughed. "No, but I'll definitely take a raincheck on that. Should I stop at the grocers tomorrow?"

Charlie sat a bit straighter. _His _Bella really wanted to go out with friends? On her first day in school? This was the girl who wouldn't leave her _room_. "You sure Honey? It's your first day-"

"I really want to go. It'll be... fun."

"Huh." A warm feeling spread through his chest; his face split into a grin. "I was a little worried, Bells." His voice sounded too heavy and gruff. He couldn't help feeling emotional, couldn't help using her childhood nickname. Fortunately for their bet, she didn't seem to notice. "Uh... I know you like your books, and before, well, you didn't like playing with the other kids around here much, so uh," Charlie floundered. "I'm proud of you, kid," he finished in awkward embarrassment. _Aren't I the stereotypical proud Papa?_

"I... thanks."

"Yeah."

"I... should I stop and buy some pumpkin pie filling?"

"We're covered."

"Okay."

"Yep."

"Love you. Bye," she finished in a rush, and she immediately ended the call.

_Beeep. Beeep. Beeep._

Charlie smiled.

* * *

><p>He was bustling around the kitchen in agitation, when the door creaked open. "Hey, Charlie."<p>

"Bella!" He breathed the name out in a _whoosh_ of relief. "Why didn't you give me a call? It's late!"

Her eyes darted to the clock and widened. After gaping a moment, she recovered herself. "Isabella Marie," she mumbled, grinning weakly.

"Huh?" He blinked, then recalled. "Hey, all bets are off when your kid gets home this late, Missy."

Bella curled her arms around herself; Charlie was sad to see how guarded her face became. "Does 'missy' mean I'm in real trouble? I'm sorry-"

"No, no," he urged her into the house. "Gosh, Bells; I need to get you a better coat. You find that one in the truck? It's barely a parka."

She crinkled her nose at the word, then sighed. "I'm sorry-

"No, don't be sorry. Just give me a heads up next time." He smiled. "You must have had a lot of fun today; I know you're not the type to lose track like that. Want to go make that pie and tell me about it?"

Bella unwrapped her arms, but hitched her backpack up. "No, thanks... I think I'm going to bed." She pecked him on the cheek, then darted up the stairs. "Night!"

"Hey!" The door clicked shut; he sighed. _"Teenagers..." _He trodded back into the kitchen. _Nice to see her acting like a teenager, though._

"Proud of you, kid," He saluted in the approximate direction of her room, then fixed a pot of tea.

* * *

><p><em>Bzzz.<em>

_Bzzz._

There was a loud thud from the attic. He woke abruptly, nearly falling to the floor.

_Bzzz._

_Bzzz._

With a groan, he snatched his mobile phone from the bedside table:

**-ARIANNA (WORK)-**

**-6 missed calls-**

He swore under his breath and hit the call button.

"Charlie? Charlie! I've been trying to call you!"

"Yeah," he yawned. "Sorry, had my phone on vibra-"

"There's been a kidnap, Charlie. Get your ass down to the station, _now_."

He sat bolt upright. "Where? Who?"

"_Whom. _Teenage girl; we found her car at the plaza, by Newton Outfitters-"

"Got it. Be at the station in ten minutes. Where are you?"

"Going to pick you up. 3:30 sharp. I've got tea. Chai."

"Thanks."

He dressed quickly, trying to clear the fog of sleep. He paused midway pulling on his shoes; what was that noise earlier? Was Bella awake?

His stomach twisted, and he lurched out the door, stomping up the stairs. He stopped outside the attic door, calmed himself, and knocked softy.

"Bella? Are you okay?"

There was another thud. It went straight to Charlie's heart.

_Knock knock knock knock knock _"Bella? Honey?" He was amazed at how steady his voice was.

The door creaked open a fraction; he was shocked by a gust of cold air. "Yeah, Dad?" Bella winced in the light. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she was trembling.

"Bella, I've got to run to work, there's been a kidnapping so I want to make sure you weren't going anywhere, and I heard a sound..." He paused, feeling foolish. "Can you open the door?"

She blinked her eyes rapidly. "Yeah, sure. Sec." She flicked on the light, pulled the door back, and wrapped her arms around herself. "Everything okay?"

"It's freezing in here! Did you have the window open?" Charlie looked toward the window; it was fast shut.

She scowled. "No, you opened it; like _twice. _It was stuck too..." She looked back. "Did you close it again?"

"Bella, I've been asleep— I haven't touched that window in weeks. How'd you even..." They both froze in place, all traces of sleep vanishing completely. They stared at eachother in mutual horror.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he grabbed her by the arm and led her quickly downstairs. "Shoes." He rested his hand over the firearm he never once wanted to use, scanning the room, ears straining.

Once she was ready, he threw a heavy coat over her shoulders and led her out the door. He checked the truck thoroughly before letting her in. His heart was pounding furiously as he pulled out of the driveway.

_Why here? Why now?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: The cameo character "Arianna" is from MsPeaceHope! Thanks for being my first reviewer; you're an absolute gem.**


	6. Silver Screens

**Disclaimer: It's on my tortured brow... that I don't own Twilight and make no money from this.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Silver Screens<strong>

* * *

><p>Alice trotted to the front door and rang the buzzer. Though rocking back and forth on her heels, she waited with patience until a gentle voice issued from the speaker: "Alice, sweetie?"<p>

"Yes, Mommy! Edward and Bella are here too, like I told you on the phone. Could you get the downstairs set up?"

"Just a moment."

There was a roiling, clicking, sliding noise. I looked around curiously, though not startled. On the first level of the house, the windows were slowly being obscured by dark screens. "Huh?" I stepped back a few feet. The upper levels had the same covers. "What's going on?"

There was a hand on my shoulder; I was mildly embarrassed to see it was Edward. "Our mother is very sensitive to the light, so we have to make sure we keep the rooms screened for her. They must have been left up for the plants; she has some spider flowers she likes in the library."

_[Oh, that sounds interesting / inconvenient.]_

_[What happens if she does get exposed to light?]_

_[You have a library?]_

_[I love spider plants.]_

Edward grinned at me broadly; I wondered what my face must have looked like. "I love spider plants," I said mundanely. At first I kicked myself, but then changed it to a pat on the back. It was better than asking about _my new (sort-of) friends' mother's medical condition._

As though she were conspiring with my brain to make me feel ridiculous, Alice came over and pat me on the back. "It's fine to come in now, Bella!" _Oh, right._

The entry hall was sealed but for a door, lit by plastic candles with realistically flickering, low-watt bulbs. Edward closed the main door behind us and Alice threw open the next. "Hi, Mommy! We're home!" she squealed, running into a woman's arms. Their mother's face was concealed at first, until Edward walked up to plant a kiss on her temple. She smiled warmly as she turned to face me.

She had the kind of hair that my mom's hairdresser would call "caramel" and I would call "honey blonde". It was tightly curled and tied in a neat bun, the fringe framing her face in a heart. She had laugh lines, she had dimples, and unlike her children— it looked like she actually had _pores_. Perhaps shallowly, I liked her right away.

"Oh, of course," she said. "This would be Bella, yes? So nice to meet you, dear. I'm Esme," she extended a hand, eyes sparkling. (Flustered, I realized that I'd expected her to have cataracts.) We shook hands; her palm was very warm. "Now, I'm sure you would like a snack?"

"Oh no," I said, raising my hands in front of me. "No, that's okay, I'll wait until I get home. I had a good breakfast, and I'll probably be having a big dinner with my father tonight." Neither of us were actually the type to keep to scheduled mealtimes, but she didn't need to know that. I'd just feel too weird eating in front of people, especially in such a nice house—

I had been so distracted by Esme that I hadn't taken a good look around me.

"You have a beautiful garden, ma'am," I fortunately recalled my manners. "And your home is lovely."

I'd been expecting the interior of the house to be imposing and uncomfortable. The Cullens were clearly well-off, and not hesitant to display it outside. However, while the décor and furnishings were of a high quality, the effect wasn't stifling. It wasn't like when I visited a wealthier relative's house and felt nervous about stepping on the floor or sitting in a chair; the place had _life._

I stepped slightly out of the way, pulling off my shoes, drinking in the sights. The cream-coloured carpet was soft beneath my feet; it spanned into the rooms adjacent. The kitchen, dining room, parlour, and family room were clearly visible, leafing out evenly by broad, steepled archways. The entrance settled in the center. Within, a winding, wooden staircase formed the stem of the house. _It's a floor planner's dream come true._ "It's all very... elegant." I hoped it sounded as sincere as I'd meant it. To myself, I sounded pompous.

Esme beamed. "Oh, come now!" She fluttered over to a wooden box set in the wall and flicked a switch. At once, the lamps in the room opposite seemed to brighten. "Alice, Edward, why don't you take Bella and trot along to the parlour? I'll prepare some biscuits and tea." She thwacked Edward affectionately in the shoulder with a paint-stained tea towel. "I'm sure you'd love to show her the new piano."

Edward groaned in protest. Esme was already halfway to the kitchen when she called over her shoulder, "And you promised me you'd play a new _nocturne_ tonight!"

Alice took this as her cue to take me by the hand. "It's okay if Edward wants to play at humility today. I'm going to teach you how to play the cello." I blinked, unable to find the right reply before her icy fingers gripped around mine; I was being towed toward the parlour. I heard a heavy sigh as Edward trudged behind us.

* * *

><p>The dry, keening noise crawled up my spine and rested in my teeth; at least this time I didn't drop the bow in shock. "Alice, are you sure it doesn't need more of that resin stuff?" I asked, indicating the small crystalised block on the table. I used to think the bowstrings on violins and cellos were waxed, but apparently they needed small, dusty chips to create friction against the strings. (That, or Alice was playing the cruelest prank in the history of nefarious schemes.)<p>

"It's _'rosin'_, and I'm positive. It's your elbows, your wrists; strike the singular string, keep the pressure firm." She gesticulated as she spoke, as if it would magically move my limbs into the correct posture.

I bit back a retort and tried again.

"You're wobbling. Remember, it's all smooth, fluid movements. Think of it like learning how to drive."

I furrowed my brow in exasperation, barely keeping my temper in check. I'd constantly had to stop myself from throwing down the instrument or breaking down in tears. "Alice, I don't think this is really my thing. I think cellos hate me."_ Cello is to music as ballet is to dance, and I am completely doomed._

"Cellos aren't sentient," said Edward cheerily, breathing in the aroma of a fresh cup of tea. I could easily have smacked him with my bow, but I didn't want my eventual spiral into violence to stem from an _oversized fiddle._

I heaved a sigh and put aside the instrument, right as Esme walked through the door. Edward sat up a bit straighter. "Shall I play now, Mother?"

She ruffled his hair. "Your father should be home shortly; we should wait." She set down a tray of lemon cookies on the table; I accepted one with my thanks. "Bella, if you wish to learn music, perhaps you should try piano. It's a wonderful way to get a good sense of the notes." She sat in front of the grand piano, running a hand over the keys. After a moment of contemplation, she began to play softly.

"Do you know this one, Bella? It's quite popular."

"Für Elise." Though she had spoken at normal conversational volume, I felt it impolite to speak loudly over her playing.

"Very good. Do you know who composed it?"

Edward had told me in the car earlier; I should be able to remember, for that if not for its popularity.

Esme tapped at a single key a few times, "His name begins with a B..."

"Ludwig Beethoven." I wasn't the one who said it.

Carlisle Cullen was a handsome, youthful man; he couldn't have been older than thirty-five. He wore a very smart... lab-coat?_ I didn't know doctors actually wore those outside television,_ I thought. He had golden hair, the same butterscotch eyes as Edward, and was completely drenched. "Is it rain—" Before I could finish my sentence, Esme started speaking; I cut myself off.

"Is it really necessary to ruin the game? Oh dear, my dear." She clucked her tongue at him and then began playing another song. She didn't even need to look at the piano, and her fingers were flying. When she noticed my gape, she winked. "Turkish Waltz. Mozart, arranged by Volodos."

Edward laughed, "I'm upstaged before I can even hit the keys. You make a tough act to follow, Mother."

She sniffed, "You're well and close to surpassing your teacher. You've already outwitted my best improvisations and compositions. I'm very proud of you."

This was enough to distract me from the hypnotising movements of her hands, which seemed to flash by faster than I could see. '_I'm very proud of you',_ she'd said. I felt myself blush slightly. It was so strange to hear a parent say it outright to their child, particularly in front of company.

Edward sighed. "She compliments my improvisations, whilst building variations on Volodos. You just want me to practise harder."

"Oh, make no mistake: I always want you to do better, sweetie!" She laughed, seamlessly switching her song into a strange, raucous version of _Canon_. Edward grinned, then squeezed himself into the seat next to her, playing the low notes. Watching their hands nearly gave me a headache, but their notes didn't sour.

I had been so distracted by the exchange that I hadn't felt the stare pinned to me. When noticing it in my periphery, I felt the small shock of my blood running cold. Rolling my shoulders back and blinking rapidly to dispel the sensation, I let my gaze meet his. Doctor Cullen twisted his mouth ruefully at being caught, but said nothing.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir," I said softly, unwilling to speak over the music. "Has it been raining again?"

He furrowed his brow, leaned close to me, and sniffed.

What?

As his eyes widened, I realised that I could smell something too. Something really familiar.

_"Morpheus, philologus divine,"_ he breathed, leaning back. The smell hadn't disappeared now that I'd caught it. With another inhale, a memory cropped up— _my grandmother's house, maybe? Could it be the flowers? No, it's not flowery..._ My full attention was flooded into recall. _No, something in the woods, I think. That was when I was playing by the creek, and it froze over—_

I knew that was impossible, though; it must have been a childhood dream that I mistook for memory. I rapidly shook my head to clear the fog.

Doctor Carlisle gawked at me.

"Oh, sorry! Uh, it's nice to meet you." _Maybe he has the same laundry detergent that Grandma used on my pillowcases._ I shook my head again, "Sorry, kind of dazed out for a minute. I'm a bit of a space-case," I grinned weakly._ I need to stop relying on bad humour and stupid excuses,_ I chastised myself.

"Right," he said slowly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan."

"Likewise, Doctor! Uh, how do you know my name?"

"Your notoriety precedes you, perhaps." He smiled widely. I must have looked skeptical, because he went on to say, "Edward, ah, he called me before he left classes. He said you would be visiting."

_Wow, I wasn't even out of the Nurse's Office. I thought he'd only wanted to give me a ride home._ "Confident!" I snorted, giving Edward the evil-eye.

His father shrugged in a helpless sort of manner. "He only said that you were likely to visit, in his defense." He frowned, tapping his chin. "Although, I hadn't realised he did not have your permission; it is quite the presumption. We should have him play you a song in repentance; perhaps sing as well."

My face flushed, "Oh no, it's fine." The last thing I needed was to have a pretty-boy playing songs for me. I was trying to get to know him; being serenaded would probably just take me back to square one._ Square one of feeling creeped out, or square one of being annoyingly attracted – I wonder which is worse?_

The piano playing stopped abruptly. Esme giggled, and Edward was glaring at Carlisle. "Father, please."

The doctor grinned. "I taught you better, Edward, than to listen into conversations. Speaking of conversations: you haven't seemed to retain your manners very well." His voice was light and jovial, but his eyes were sharp. I cringed. _Sorry to get you in trouble,_ I thought ruefully. It was difficult to figure out a way to intercede; being caught in a familial argument was hideously awkward. Social situations were difficult enough for me as it was.

Edward sprang from his seat, wrenching me from my dithering. He was smiling wider than I'd yet seen; it reached his eyes. "Bella, what do you say I play for you? Pick a song, any song."

I blinked; he beamed. "I really do want to, if that's what you're worried about. What's your favourite song?"

* * *

><p><strong>Much thanks to my new Beta, <em>Bloodredfirefly!<em>**


	7. Flowers

**A/N: Thanks to _Bloodredfirefly_ for her beta magic!**

**Disclaimer: Things that I have loved, I'm allowed to keep... just not make money off of them.**

**Chapter Seven: Flowers**

* * *

><p>My thoughts whirred and sputtered. I wondered if it was a regular thing for Edward to get these... moodswings.<p>

—_Okay, a song. My favourite song..._

Why does he always put me on the spot like this?

—_Oh, I hope he doesn't sing, I'd feel embarrassed..._

It's not like I've known him long enough to say, 'always', though...

—_I_ _wish_ _I_ _knew_ _more_ _music..._

Alice is like that too, sometimes...

—_Maybe_ _Linkin'_ _Park?_ _Oh_ _no_. _No,_ _that's_ _a_ terrible _idea..._

It's like they take turns— it must be a conspiracy. And now _this?_

My mind was split on double-track; just as I was contemplating Edward's motives, my mouth spat out: "Is there life on Mars?"

Esme, who had been silent up to that moment, laughed. "What an odd question!" Though she smiled, she seemed to examine me much the same way I had been contemplating Edward. She fixed herself on the settee, eying me... warily? _She_ _must_ _be_ _about_ _forty;_ _don't_ _tell_ _me_ _she_ _doesn't_ _know_ _David_ _Bowie?_

"It's just a song, Mommy," Alice said, uncharacteristically quietly. _You've only known her a day, you can't judge what's uncharacteristic. _Carlisle seemed thankfully unperturbed, but his demeanor earlier still had me on edge. To make things _even_ _worse_, I realised I'd calmed down enough to eat a cookie earlier; there were crumbs on my lap. _Oh_ _no._ _When_ _I_ _stand_ _up..._ The carpet beneath my feet looked devastatingly clean. _Oh_ _no._

During a brief pause, Edward settled himself back to the piano. "I like that song too, Bella." His smile had relaxed into an easy grin; it was a nice contrast to the strange looks from the family, who were starting to seem more and more like Martians. _That's_ _strange_ _too._ _Isn't_ _he_ _normally_ _the_ _one_ _who_ _makes_ _me_ _feel_ _uncomfortable?_

But just what did I mean by "normally"?

I lowered my head guiltily; I was being so rude. _Again_. Why didn't I just _stay_ _home?_

Quietly, Edward began the opening notes. He did sing, but it was much softer than I imagined it would be, and he didn't have the sort of "professionally pretty" voice I'd expected. There was something very pleasant in that. By the time he finished the song, I was finally relaxed; my breathing evened out. _I_ _think_ _I_ _almost_ _cried from the stress._

I didn't speak up as his family complimented his performance. _Always_ _the_ _last_ _in_ _line,_ _aren't_ _we?_ I twisted my hands together; I was thinking too much today. It was a wonder I hadn't thrown myself into a panic yet.

When the talking died down, I raised my head; Edward was striding toward me. He extended his hand. "We've been sitting in here for a while now; it must be uncomfortable. Would you like to tour the house?"

"I, uh," I looked to Alice, who glanced quickly at Esme.

"Edward, would you mind showing her around a bit without me? It shouldn't take too long anyway, and I need to help Mom with something."

If she'd said that twenty minutes ago, I would have wanted to cringe. I may have even felt a little insulted. After all my nonsense though, and now that Alice looked so serious... _That's_ _just_ _it_ _though._ _What_ _is_ _her_ deal_?_

_Martians,_ my mind quipped. I sighed quietly and stood up, wobbling slightly, joints creaking. We must have been sitting longer than I thought. I eyed the arm Edward held out to me; I wasn't about to forget what happened last time.

He noticed. "No cologne on me now; it'd hardly be a good tour if you weren't conscious for it." I snickered, curtseyed dramatically, and took his arm. To be honest, I would have rather fallen unconscious in the hall than remain conscious in that parlour; the pressure _there_ was stifling. _I_ _would_ _have_ _said_ _something_ _stupid_ _any_ _minute._

"So!" Edward drew himself up, raising his chin. "Where to, Milady? The glowing warmth of the kitchens?" He stepped forward. "There's a lovely fireplace, it should be lit—"

"No, sorry, thank you," I said, averting my gaze from the kitchen, tugging him in the opposite direction. "I try to avoid fire."

"Oh? Bad experience?"

"Just a very rational, healthy fear. I mean, it's _fire._" I shivered.

"Point taken. Perhaps the noble fortress of the dining room, ever armed with cutlery?"

"Actually... You said you have a library?"

"A pseudo-library, really, it has _some_ bookshelves. It's technically the living room, but we spend more time in the parlour." He led me to the leftmost archway.

"I think a library would make the best 'living' room."

"I like how you think."

Oh, and what a way to live. I was in heaven. It _was_ mostly a living room, as Edward had told me. There was a television, a large, covered window filled with bright, spindly flowers, a computer... Oh, but the _books_. A third of the room was covered floor to ceiling in shelves, all completely filled. And they weren't just any books. Not those pointless old manuals and romances your relatives dug out of their attic and gave you on Christmas, because they "know you like reading". (Though I _had_ read all of those I'd gotten.)

No. The Cullens had _all_ _of_ _the_ _books._ Good books. Old books, new books, encyclopædias, leather bound, paperback, art instruction, language learners, arithmetic, science, romance— It was _amazing._ Harry Potter, Narnia, Hitchhiker's, Austen— There was an entire shelf filled with poetry, Edward said they were Emmett's— An entire _case_ had history books about _everywhere_ _ever_— Jasper's, apparently. I spent nearly twenty minutes standing teary-eyed in front of Edward's fiction collection— I saw _twenty_ novels I wanted to read, and—

_Oh_ _my_ _gosh_ _he has the entire Sandman collection_.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Alice found us an hour later on the window seat, reading.<p>

"Oh no, not another one. _Really_, you two?"

"Alice!" I said brightly. "Did you know there are _books _about Doctor Who? Like real books!" I had only seen the reboot of the show last spring, but it was enough to enjoy the books. "Books!"

"Alice!" Edward said sharply. "Why didn't you tell me my copy of _Half-Blood_ _Prince_ had come in? I've been waiting for this forever!" He still hadn't looked up from his book; I felt a wave of sympathy. It had been out since June.

Alice sniffed. "Hardly forever. Maybe you should check the mail yourself? Take a break from music and pop into the living room now and then? Oh, couldn't you have just read my mind?"

He marked his page and looked into her eyes, agonised. "Did I miss anything else?"

Alice gazed into the distance, eyes blank. "Yes... I do believe... Final Fantasy twelve, at the end of October... Or rather, March for the original Japanese version..." At this point I was completely lost, but Edward sprang from his seat, book falling to the floor.

"Teasing. March and October _next_ year, Edward. Calm down, you're scaring Bella."

I was clutching the book to my chest, "Oh, I'm not scared. Just fascinated." _Is_ _that_ _rude?_ "What's Final Fantasy? Let me guess, a fantasy series?"

"Video games," Edward huffed. I envisioned him sitting in front of the television with a controller, yelling over a headset. I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

He noticed my gesture with displeasure. "I _do_ like things other than books you know. Everyone has a video game they'll like." I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I see now. As they say, Bella, don't knock it until you try it." He rifled through a drawer, procuring a bright blue box. "Here, this is the tenth in the series. Would you care to play for a few minutes? The game is entirely story-driven, quite linear, and the combat's a cinch— turn-based."

"I can't just start at _ten!_" Even if I didn't like video games, I had _continuity_ _respect._

"The titles are not actually related, plot-wise. Well..." He grimaced. "No, let's not go there today."

Alice had been resting her face in her hands during the conversation. "I'm going to practice cello. Unless you want me to stick around, Bella?" To my surprise, she was smiling. "He's right, if you don't have any games you like, you should try it out for a change of pace. You'll know where to find me if you get bored." The awkwardness from earlier seemed to have completely dissipated.

I looked at Edward. "Only a few minutes, right? I might really dislike it, no offense."

He nodded and fixed up the machine. I turned back to Alice, "Are you sure?"

"However shall I cope? You break my heart." With that, she gently pushed me into a couch, pressing a controller in my hands.

"Okay, okay!" I laughed. The opening credits started as Edward sat next to me.

The was a low, dark chuckle from the archway behind us; I would have fallen out of my seat if Alice hadn't caught my shoulder. "Mm-hmm hmm ha-ha ha! You know..." said Doctor Cullen's low, velvet voice. "If you sit in front of your machina all day, _Sin_ will—"

"Dad!" Alice shrieked, "No spoilers!" With that, she picked him up and carried him from the room. He laughed all the way.

I stared at the archway.

She _picked_ him _up,_ and she _carried_ _him._

Alice just _lifted_ her _father,_ and _carried—_

"Don't let her fool you," Edward said lightly. "Underneath all those layers and frills, Alice is quite muscular."

"_Muscular?_" My voice cracked up an octave. "More like _completely buff._"

He frowned. "Can women be considered... buff?"

"I thought it would sound more appropriate than 'totally ripped'," I admitted.

"Yes. Quite buff."

The screen brightened; I selected "_New_ _Game_". When the music started, I steeled my will and spoke.

"Edward?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"Your family is kind of..." I reflected a moment. "Creepy. And awesome." I paused. "And wonderful. In a weird way. But good." I looked at him. "Does that make sense?"

"Sadly, it does. You're welcome here whenever you like."

My heart stuttered. "I— you all just met me, and, gosh I don't—"

"Who else can I watch play Final Fantasy for the first time? Who else would read books with me?" I blushed deeply. "Or... be so completely terrible at cello?"

With that, an _oversized_ _fiddle_ really did become my downward spiral into violence.

"You didn't have to hit so hard," Edward complained, rubbing his chin.

"It was a pillow," I shot back. Only his voice and his ego were wounded; the surprise of the hit had sent him sprawling on the floor.

"I hit the table!" he said.

"You should apologise to the table then, shouldn't you?" The music and TV screen changed. "Oh hey, what's going on? Is that a boat? How do I move the character?"

"Then she asks for help!" He complained to the ceiling. As the ceiling did not seem to care— entirely failing to respond— he helped me.

* * *

><p>An hour later, I found myself completely absorbed in a cutscene when a voice boomed from behind me: "Oh crap, not <em>this<em> again! You've played this game like a _hundred_ times, Edward." I let out a squeak and spun around, hand over my heart. The burly boy from earlier, Emmett, was standing in the doorway. He stared at me, mouth agape.

"He's in there?!" came a shrill voice. "Tell him about the perimeters! This is no time for video—"

"He's got himself a girlfriend, Rose!" Emmett said loudly. The blonde girl had stomped into the room, and now she stared at me, too.

_[I'm_ _not_ _his_ _girlfriend!]_

"It's not what it looks like!" I jumped to my feet. "It's just this part of the game was _really_ _emotional_ and I am _not_ crying!"

Edward joined them in staring at me. "Wait, yes you are. You're crying. I'm so sorry for not noticing, Bell- er," he cut himself off. I was trying desperately to use my 'meaningful look'.

"Oh dear. Are you ill again? Should I fetch Father?"

The blonde girl— Rosalie— stepped forward. "Yes-"

"I'm fine!" I was exasperated.

"... Actually, I need to speak with him," she finished.

[_Yes._ _Naturally._ _Just_ _letting_ _you_ _know_ _I'm_ _fine._ _That's_ _all._]

I kept my mouth shut. Edward stood up and gave me a soft pat on the shoulder. "Actually, it's getting pretty late; I should take Bella home first. Emmett, would you mind driving with me? Her truck's still at the school."

_So_ _much_ _for_ _keeping_ _my_ _mouth_ _shut._ "Edward, can I-"

"Don't worry, we'll save the game first-"

"No I mean, can you just drop me off at my truck? It'd be easier."

"Sorry, Bella." It was Emmett who spoke now. "Call me old school, but it's not right to leave a girl on her own at night, especially if you can take care of her. Edward and I have somewhere we need to go anyway, it's no big deal." Before I could protest, he ruffled my hair and walked away.

And so I found myself, twenty minutes later: my mobile phone had twice as many contacts as before—

"_Well,_ _I_ _expect_ _to_ _hear_ _from_ _you_ _in_ _the_ _morning!_ _I_ _said_ _I'd_ _drive_ _you,_ _remember?"_ (Not that I would have protested having it, but Alice took it upon herself to add her number in my phone.)

—there were lemon cookies in my book-bag—

"_Oh,_ _these_ _kids_ _don't_ _appreciate the_ _baking._ _Go_ _on,_ _dear,_ _take_ _a_ _tin." _(To my embarrassment, Esme emptied three trays into the container.)

—along with two volumes of Sandman—

"_I_ _deeply_ _understand_ _the_ _pain_ _of_ _not_ _knowing_ _what_ _happens_ _next,_ _Bella." _(Edward lovingly patted his _Harry_ _Potter_ book, the very image of post-trauma.)

—pepper spray—

(Emmett had just sighed and shook his head; Rosalie pressed the bottle into my hand without a word.)

—and from Carlisle: a formal, hand-written invitation to watch the next season premier of Doctor Who with the entire Cullen family.

"Does he normally do that kind of thing?" I asked Edward in a hushed whisper; we were in his car now, waiting for Emmett. I breathed in the night air; it had stopped raining.

"Father? Yes; we get them too. Mine's probably taped on my bedroom door right now."

"I love your family. I think." _Rude?_

"Don't question it Bella!" boomed a voice behind me. "Embrace it!"

This time I nearly strangled myself on my seatbelt. "How do you keep _doing_ that?" My heart thundered in my chest. _If_ _this_ _happens_ _again,_ _I_ _might_ _end_ _up_ _in_ _shock._

Emmett climbed into the backseat behind me. I wound up my window, feeling a headache coming on. When we rolled into the forest, it hit me all at once: _I'm_ _exhausted._

I awoke to a hand gently shaking my shoulder. "Bella? You're home."

"Mm?" I sat up, disoriented. We were there already? "Truck, but—"

"Already got it, it's in the drive. Emmett?" I rubbed at my eyes as Edward pressed the keys into my palm. "There we are. Go to sleep, all right? We'll wait until you get to the door; don't worry."

"Who's worried?" I asked, throwing the car door open. My truck was in the drive. "And uh, thank you. I've got a key though, I won't be locked outside or anything." After giving my legs a good stretch, I stepped out.

"Bella?" Edward asked.

"Yes?" He handed me my over-filled book-bag. "Oh, right. Thanks. Goodnight, you two!"

Emmett took the passenger seat; they waited until I got the door open before leaving.

As soon as I walked in, I smiled; cobwebs lined the walls, some of them blotched in red, there was a huge fuzzy spider crouched on the table, surrounded by many tiny ones, and several large rats perched on the bookshelf; Charlie had been decorating for Halloween.

My smile faded slightly when I saw him sloppily scrubbing dishes; there was a puddle pooling around his feet. _Is_ _he_ _okay? _

"Hey, Charlie."

"Bella!" He whirled around. "Why didn't you give me a call? It's late!"

* * *

><p><strong>SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON<strong>

My heart pounded furiously in my chest as I sprinted through the forest. After what felt like hours, I finally stopped outside the ravine and retched.

_How_ _long_ _has_ _it_ _been?_ I asked myself, counting silently. _Six_ _months._ _So_ _how_ _long_ _until_ _he_ _figures_ _it_ _out?_ I looked at the setting sun and laughed out loud. _Six_ _hours_, _if_ _that_. I curled my hands around my abdomen, laughing hysterically until I started coughing blood.

_Right._ I swiped a hand across my chin, then wiped my palm on the stupid torn dress. Sitting heavily on a moss-covered tree stump, I went over my plan. It would have been already too late for me, I knew— he had made sure of that. Even if he hadn't... well, even _I_ wasn't daring enough to mess with _that._

_His_ plan broke here though; I was free to move as I wished.

_No._ _His_ _plan_ _broke_ _the_ _second_ _he_ _decided_ _on_ _me_. _Hell,_ _his_ _plan_ _was_ _broken_ _before_ _I_ _was_ _born. _A slow, deranged smile spread across my face; my fist clenched the fabric over my stomach. I wanted to say it out loud, even if he could never hear me. The word hissed through my teeth: "Check."

Even if I couldn't tell him myself, I was ready to die to make sure he was the last to know.


	8. Skip, Turn, Step

**UPDATE: Fresh Rain trigger warnings are now available in a link on profile page.**

**A/N: Please let me know what you think; it's okay to leave a review even if you didn't leave a review for earlier chapters. I promise the continuity police won't find you. Trust me, they hover menacingly around writers too often to do much else.**

**Much thanks to the beta prowess of _Bloodredfirefly!_**

**Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this. I don't think I could if I tried.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Skip, Turn, Step<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>LIFE<em>_から舞い上がれ迷子  
><em>_惨敗から燃えたれマイソウル  
><em>_さあ せかすぜ ボンクラキッズ__!  
><em>_心臓に流し込む ロッケン__BOMB!"_

"_Fly away from a disadvantaged life, lost child  
>Overwhelming defeat burns my soul<br>__Alright, hurry up you blockhead kids!  
><em>_I'm going to pour down your hearts a rockin' bomb!"_

—Maximum the Hormone, "_Buiik__ikaesu_"

* * *

><p><em>Late?<em> What did he mean it was late? I was only gone for a few hours, it couldn't be past eight. _Is_ _he_ _really_ _that_ _strict?_ Maybe we would need to have a talk; I wasn't fifteen anymore.

My eyes instinctively flickered over to the clock above the coat pegs. _Half-past_ _one_ _in_ _the_ _morning__?_ _That's_ _impossible!_ I wanted to try to figure out where I'd lost time, but instead quashed my confusion down; it could wait for later. Charlie was more important right now.

"Isabella Marie," I said, trying to smile.

"Huh?"

I felt my face grow warm; _definitely_ not the time for bad humour. He was seriously worried; after all, he must have thought I was gone for, what, nine hours after school? Ten?

Charlie frowned deeply. "Hey, all bets are off when your kid gets home this late, Missy."

_What_ _do_ _I_ _say?_ [_I_ _hadn't_ _noticed?_] This hole seemed to be digging itself deeper without my help, and I just _knew_ I'd end up making things worse. I had no idea what I could do or say to make this better. All I could handle was safe territory, _known_ territory.

Apologising wasn't going to fix things, and I wasn't good for much else but bad humour and pointing out the obvious. "A good laugh" hadn't helped in the slightest, so I tried the latter. "Does 'missy' mean I'm in real trouble? I'm sorry-" My apology tumbled out automatically. Well, it wouldn't fix things, but it was more polite. _I_ _made_ _him_ _worry._

He scowl slackened instantly. "No, no!" He pulled me by the coat sleeve, urging me in front of the radiator; I hadn't realised how cold I'd been. "Gosh, Bells; I need to get you a better coat. You find that one in the truck? It's barely a parka."

I scrunched up my face slightly,

[_I_ _can_ _buy_ _my_ _own_ _clothes,_ _don't_ _worry_ _about_ _it._]

No, it wasn't worth saying right now. I'd worried Charlie. "I'm sorry-"

"No, don't be sorry. Just give me a heads up next time. You must have had a lot of fun today; I know you're not the type to lose track like that. Want to go make that pie and tell me about it?"

That was it? No explosion? No fireworks? What could I really tell him, though?

[_A_ _lot_ _of_ _stuff_ _happened_. _We_ _talked_ _and_ _I_ _played_ _cello_ _and_... _I'll_ _tell_ _you_ _tomorrow?_]

[_I_ _have_ _to_ _go_ _hide_ _in_ _my_ _room_ _and_ _check_ _my_ _e-mail_ _and_ _dig_ _through_ _my_ _backpack._ _It_ _might_ _take_ _a_ _few_ _hours_.]

[_Sorry_, _I_ _need_ _to_ _check_ _for_ _concussions_, _because_ _somehow_ _I've_ _been_ _out_ _for_ _like_ _nine_ _hours_. _I_ _may_ _have_ _forgotten_ _half_ _my_ _visit_ _anyway?_ _So_ _yeah,_ _I_ _need_ _to_ _go_ _hide._ _That's_ _cool_, _right_?]

[_Sorry_ _Charlie,_ _I_ _have_ _been_ _WAY_ _too_ _social_ _for_ _one_ _day._]

"No thanks... I think I'm going to bed." I gave him a swift peck on the cheek and sprinted up the stairs. "Night!" I called over my shoulder.

"Hey!"

I closed the door, and after a brief hesitation, decided _not_ to slump against it. I threw the book-bag on my bed and threw myself next to it. _What_ _a_ _day._

What happened though? Had Edward and Emmett gone on a road-trip while I was asleep? No, that couldn't be it; it was already dark by the time we left the property. It was _really_ dark out. You couldn't even see the moon or the stars; all the rain clouds masked the sky. It was so different here from Arizona. Sure, Phoenix got just as cold at night, but there wasn't this kind of claustrophobia. That flat, pressing, _dark._ I was used to a city constantly generating all that light, and even then, my house was far enough away that you saw the stars properly. It was a bright, shining place— all the time. Here, it was like being constantly pressed with fog and shadow.

Folding my arms around myself, I tried to push away the pang of homesickness. Willing myself to concentrate, I went over the events of the day, turning them over. Breakfast, school... lunch, walking with Edward...

I hadn't thought about that little incident properly afterward; I didn't have enough time to myself to really reflect on it. The whole thing was so strange, and playing it back in my mind felt like trying to recover a dream. I shook my head slightly; I _had_ been in a fainting spell, after all. I'd never fainted before in my life, so of _course_ it was weird to me. It would be natural for something like that to feel like a dream, because I pretty much fell asleep. So... what about after that?

I fainted, then I awoke in the nurse's office. Alice was there, and we went outside... Yes, that was _definitely_ the proper time for the end of the school day. Not to mention I checked my phone when I called Charlie, before we left for the Cullens' house. So it would have been, what, three in the afternoon? So we should have gotten there around three-thirty...

I crinkled my brow in frustration, trying to recall what had happened. The sky was already much darker by then, wasn't it? It had been raining; that may have been why I lost track of time. But _still..._

Then we were driving, and I _know_ I didn't faint again on the way there. It didn't get any darker over the course of our drive, either; I'd definitely have noticed. Then we went through the trees leading to their house, which only took a few minutes, and then we went on that white road.

_It_ _was_ _so_ _beautiful._ I smiled to myself in recollection. I don't think I'll ever forget how we made it right when there was a break in the clouds; the bright stone shining in the colors of that sunset—

_Sunset_.

It had been sunset.

My heart beat once with adrenaline strength, my chest thrumming with the impact. I scrambled up from my bed and threw myself into my desk chair, booting up my laptop. A few minutes and the clacking of keys later,

[ Pacific Timezone — October 3rd, 2005 — Sunrise: 6:49 AM — Sunset: 6:34 PM ]

I fell back into my seat. Somehow, on the drive to the Cullens', nearly three hours had passed. I stared dazedly at the screen; it took a long time for my mind to recover itself.

_Was_ _I_ _drugged?_ _Did_ _Edward_ _use_ _his_ _cologne_ _on_ _me?_ But why bother? I was going to his house, and nothing felt... out of place by the time I got there. _And_ _I_ _trust_ _Alice_ _that_ _much,_ _I_ _think._ No, it was like the time had just... gone. Like we'd just skipped over it. Did Alice or Edward notice?

My book-bag was in my hands instantly, and I was grabbing my phone. I had pulled up my contact list when I stopped short—

[_Hey_ _Alice._ _Did_ _you_ _happen_ _to_ _lose,_ _like..._ _six_ _hours_ _or_ _so_ _today?_ _By_ _any_ _chance_? _Because_ _I've_ _lost_ _three,__and_ _I_ _couldn't_ _have_ _been_ _at_ _your_ _house_ _longer_ _than_ _four,_ _so__—__]_

That was another thing. I closed my contacts and put my phone back in my pocket, thinking. I _knew_ I spent a while at the Cullens' house, but just how long was it really? Start at around three-thirty, add three and four— that's seven hours— which comes out to around ten PM... I hadn't gotten home until half-past one, though. So I was still missing more time. I _knew_ there were no more fainting spells; I'd never mistake that feeling, should it happen a second time.

Wait, but when we were leaving, I _did_ pass out again. It was a _real_ pass-out, though. No time for daydreams, it wasn't at all like how I'd been when I fainted. It was as though...

As though it were suddenly three hours past my bed time, and they had hit me all at once.

I jumped up and stared out my window into the darkness. When was that? Was it on the road, or in the forest? _That __was __the __forest._ Yes, right when we left the road, because _the_ _darkness_ _made_ _me_ _sleepy._ It pressed down, and I blacked out... I completely blacked out, though; that _wasn't_ falling asleep! It didn't have anything to do with Edward, or Alice, or any of the other Cullens. There was something in the forest that was making people just black out! And I had stayed asleep, unlike Edward or Emmett, because I hadn't gotten enough sleep last night! Since I _really_ fell asleep, _that's_ why I was able to notice what happened!

I snatched the phone out of my pocket; I _had_ to let them know! I ran over what I would say:

[_Alice_, _you_ _all_ _need_ _to_ _be_ _careful!_ _Listen,_ _I_ _know_ _this_ _might_ _not_ _make_ _sense_, _but_ _there's_ _something_ _in_ _the_ _forest_ _outside_ _your_ _house_ _that_ _makes_ _people_ _pass_ _out_ _for_ _three_ _hours!_ _And._.. _and,_ _suddenly_ _stops_ _cars_ _from_ _working_?]

Otherwise, wouldn't the car have kept going? If Alice or Edward fell asleep when they were driving, we would have crashed. So... it just skips over time? Moreover, it's only noticeable if you fall asleep?

[..._The_ _forest_ _makes_ _people_ _skip_ _over_ _three_ _hours_ _of_ _time!_ _Somehow_, _it_ _makes_ _it_ _so_ _no_ _one_ _else_ _notices_ _how_ _late_ _you_ _guys_ _are_ _getting_ _home._ _My_ _dad_ _noticed_, _though_, _so_ _maybe_ _it's_ _the_ _whole_ _forest_ _around_ _your_ _house?..._ _You_ _guys_ _like_ Doctor Who_,_ _right?_ _You_ _believe_ _me,_ _right?..._]

Once again, I put my phone away. Heaving a sigh, I let my forehead fall against the window. After a moment of contemplation, I tried to lift up the window frame for some fresh air, but it was fast shut. Giving up, I settled for collapsing onto my bed face-first. _No._ _There's_ _nothing_ _wrong_ _with_ _the_ _Cullens._ _Nor_ _their_ _driveway._ _There's_ _nothing_ _wrong_ _with_ _the_ _forest,_ _either._ No, clearly there was something deeply wrong with _me._

I began to wish Alice hadn't given me her number; it'd only be a matter of time before she realised there was something wrong with me. Then I would have to explain to Charlie why I suddenly lost my new friends...

_Charlie_ _realised_ _that_ _I_ _came_ _home_ _late._ Yes, but I was the one who lost track of time. Both on the way to the Cullens' and while _at_ the Cullens'. Clearly, the drive there was longer than I realised, or we talked longer in the parking lot than I thought. Obviously, I spent a lot of time at their house, too. After all, I played an instrument, read books, and played video games. Charlie was the one who was right; I just had a lot of fun and lost track of time.

I sniffed and sat up, then dug in my book-bag for a pack of tissues. _Ugh_. _I_ _get_ _carried_ _away_ _too_ _easily_. I blew my nose and dried my eyes, then stared at my over-stuffed book-bag. I really wanted to look through my presents, but I almost felt guilty about it now. First I was rude to them at their home, then I was rude to them as soon as I was alone. Just because I couldn't keep track of time, it had nothing to do with _them._

Why did I always have to think so badly of people and the world? Was it just to make life more interesting? That sounded about right. _This_ _is_ _why_ _I_ _don't_ _have_ _friends._ _This_ _is_ _why_ _I_ _should_ _stick_ _to_ _books._ Even if my life _was_ like a story, I'd be just as useless as ever. I'd still be snide to people, all the heroes would hate me, and the second any _real_ danger came up I'd hide in my room and sulk.

I rubbed my palms over my eyes and took a deep breath. At least I'd gone out today, right? I was in a new school, I made friends, I went out, and I was doing _better._ Even if I still got it wrong, I was doing _better_. I've had seventeen years to figure out this "being a person" thing; I _knew_ I was getting better at it.

I nodded to myself, trying to form my thoughts into conviction. If my problem was sulking, then I shouldn't _sulk_ about it. I was overreacting. I was going to legally become an adult soon; if I wanted to earn the title, I'd have to learn how to calm down.

For now, I'd rely on my distractions. As soon as I pulled my book-bag into my lap, I noticed a card sticking out of the front pocket. I frowned as I lifted it out, reading the piece of paper.

_Bella,_ _I_ _know_ _you_ _said_ _you_ _like_ _spider_ _plants,_ _but_ _I_ _hope_ _a_ _spider_ _flower_ _will_ _be_ _as_ _nice._ _Mother_ _presses_ _the_ _flowers_ _into_ _bookmarks._ _I_ _thought_ _you'd_ _like_ _one._

It was signed from Edward. I unfolded the piece of paper, and sure enough, there was a flower pressed in a plastic-sealed bookmark. It was beautiful.

I stared at the note and bookmark for a time, then reverently placed them on my bed-side table. It was the first time someone other than Charlie or one of his friends gave me a flower. And it was a _bookmark._ Sure, he didn't pick one himself, and his mother pressed it; but _still_. It was a _bookmark_ _flower. _I wouldn't have to worry about it rotting on my windowsill, either.

Feeling a bit more placid now, I rummaged through my new belongings. The first things to come out of the book-bag were Esme's cookies; they found a good home on my desk (except the one that immediately found itself in my stomach). Next were the two _Sandman_ volumes Edward had lent me; his bookmark went into the first I'd be reading. The pepper spray... I shrugged to myself, and stuffed it back in my bag. Last was Carlisle's invitation to watch the _Doctor_ _Who_ season premier with the family. I wasn't sure what to do with it for a while, but as it was Christmas themed, I taped it to my wall like a holiday card.

Wait... it would be airing on Christmas day, wouldn't it?

I opened the card and read the inside again; surely they'd delay a few days? _Nope._ _Christmas._ I shook my head. Well, maybe if Mom was still in another state, and Charlie didn't have other plans... _Really_ _though_, _do_ _they_ _expect_ _me_ _to_ _come_ _up_ _on_ _Christmas?_ Maybe it was a real party; they must have invited a lot of people. Of course it wasn't just _me._ It was fairly late in the day too... That was it! I shook my head at myself for my silliness. _I'm_ _sure_ _Charlie_ _would_ _like_ _it;_ _he_ _got_ _me_ _into_ _the_ _show,_ _after_ _all._ _Maybe_ _he_ _went_ _to_ _their_ _last_ _party._ I almost laughed out loud. It _would_ have been strange if someone in the neighbourhood watched random British television shows, without knowing my father. _It's_ _not_ _exactly_ _popular_ _here,_ _is_ _it?_ Certainly no one in my school in Phoenix watched it, but then again, I didn't really have _friends..._

I didn't, but that was my fault. _Things_ _will_ _be_ _better_ _now_.

After a shower, brushing my teeth, (eating a cookie, then brushing my teeth again), and setting my alarm, I burrowed myself into my blankets. Even if I had a nap in the car earlier, I was still exhausted; it did not take long for me to fall asleep.

My dreams had been growing steadily more vivid over the years, and that night was a very clear example. Perhaps from playing video games earlier, it felt almost as though I were on the outside of myself looking in: I was both character and observer. I was both aware and unaware. I was involved yet only distantly interested. Everything was both real and unreal. My mind easily adjusted to the double-track of my thoughts.

As my feet crunched in the snow on the mountain path, I was both terrified and detached. The chill wind bit into my skin with flecks of ice, but I felt nothing. There was shouting in the distance, but I knew it wouldn't take long for me to get there.

A helicopter zoomed across the sky, smoke billowing from the cockpit. After a few seconds, it crashed beyond an overpass. I screamed, terrified for my friends— no, my team— Who had been hurt? / I knew it made no difference to me.

Something overcame me: an acrid taste on the back of my tongue, a turn in my stomach. Though the terrain was covered in ice, several pine trees had caught fire: it was spreading. My feet seemed to sink deeper in the snow, the sound and texture of it becoming more solid. My unconcern clouded over with panic and worry. I ran; I had almost reached the overpass when my foot slipped, my ankle twisting. As my full body weight pressed down, the tendons in my ankle and calf stretched unbearably. I fell sideways and tumbled down the hillside, snow packing around my face, it was so loud, so _cold_, it burned ice against my teeth, suffocating me, and there was a _BANG__—_

I sat up in bed with a gasp. It was so cold, the snow— no, there was no more snow, but— I wiped my hands over my eyes and looked around the room. _My_ room. The window was open.

After staring dumbly for a few minutes, I shakily got out of bed to investigate. It must have started to rain again while I slept. The floor was slick with the rainwater, along with half my desk. At least the downpour ceased again; the last thing I needed was ruined electronics. Trembling slightly from the cold breeze, I shoved my laptop and alarm clock over to the other side of the desk. Turning with a sigh, I clenched my fingers over the window frame; it didn't seem to want to come down. A few minutes struggle was ineffective, before I braced my knee under the sill— _BANG!_

_There __we_ _go_. Charlie must have opened it while I slept. Maybe he's more used to the cold than I am, or he thought the attic would get too hot.

Before I knew it, I was back in bed; my eyes fell shut. As though the dream had been running in the background while I was awake, I found my self clean of snow; I'd already dusted myself off. My foot looked slightly contorted at the ankle and it was _smarting_, but it was bearable. The snow kept it numb enough, but that was a worry in itself...

I hadn't heard from my team yet; they wouldn't respond over the Comm. That wasn't one of our choppers, was it? We use Blue Insignias. It had to be a local; maybe someone was trying to assist? None of my team sent out the distress, but everyone missed rendezvous at the base...

My stomach dropped again; what _happened_ to them? The last I'd heard since we lost contact, they were heading in this direction. I should have been able to pick up on their location by now, snowstorm be damned! Maybe the people in the chopper had gotten the distress call I'd been waiting for, and something was wrong with my equipment? An interference in the signals? But why had they crashed like that? This wasn't supposed to be a hostile zone!

I shivered, trying to block out the crackling sound of fire. There was no getting back up to the ridge. I'd have to find a way around.

Then when I turned the corner, I realised I had already found my team. They were scattered around what used to be a wooden pavilion, a meeting place for the people here. Data said there used to be parks—

Both the dreaming and awake parts of me realised the people were completely motionless. The dream me had full control, and we rushed up to the one nearest, trembling with shock and terror.

At first, the awake part of me struggled to recognise the man; it was getting harder to focus. Abruptly, realisation struck: he was the main character from the video game I'd been playing earlier. As both parts of myself looked around, I saw the supporting cast— she saw her comrades. We looked back at the man before us. He was clearly dead. His face was pale and _wrong_ looking, as though a thin layer of wax had set beneath his flesh; his eyes were frozen open, and there were the beginnings of hoarfrost covering every inch of him. Even the ends of his hair seemed frozen solid. Our hand wrapped around his wrist. We felt no pulse, not even the slightest flutter. Just our own frantic heart, our own raw fingers; freezing, barely warm enough to melt the frost on him. He was gone.

_'It's_ _all_ _my_ _fault,'_ she thought. '_I_ _should_ _have_ _been_ _with_ _them...'_

Something thick and heavy tore through our chest; something between a sob and a scream. Fingers hovered over the eyelids, unsure— could the eyes even be closed? Our stomach churned, not wanting to imagine what might happen if we tried. We could only stare.

But something wasn't quite _right._ Though his skin was far paler than it ought to be, he didn't look _really_ frozen, apart from the frost covering him. His eyes might just be opened, they didn't look like they had an overlay of ice. His lips were pink, not blackened or blue as expected—

She stared at the frost on his lips.

[_No_, _please_.] I tried to tell her. [_No_, _please_ _don't_ _try_. _Don't_ _do_ _that_ _to_ _yourself._ _He's_ _dead_. _I'm_ _so_ _sorry_, _but_ _he's_ _dead._]

She leaned in close, hesitated for a beat, then pressed her lips firmly to his. I could feel the frost melting underneath, the cold stiffness, and then she sat back up, and—

Nothing. He was completely still.

_No!_ she thought wildly. _No,_ _that's_ _not_ _how_ _it_ _happens!_

There was a roaring noise from behind the pavilion; the fires had spread to us, and if we didn't move soon... We looked back to the body, then to the bodies of our comrades. There would be no time to move anyone, to check the others for vital signs—

_BANG!_

I started so violently, it felt like I fell from several feet into my bed. I bounced jolt upright at the waist, and stared across the room— Charlie had opened the window again.

The pictures of flame still dancing in the back of my mind, I crept tremulously over to the window frame. The fear and adrenaline made it easier to close the window this time.

I lay back down in my bed. My eyes fell closed.

_That_ _isn't_ _how_ _it_ _happens!_ She was shouting in my mind again. The flames were gone, and we were back to staring at those lips.

[_No_,] I thought. [_We_ _can't_ _just_ _set_ _things_ _back_ _to_ _where_ _they_ _were_. _That's_ _nothing_ _but_ _a_ _dream_ _in_ _a_ _dream_. _It's_ _over_, _there's_ _nothing_ _we_—]

She ignored me and mashed her lips against his, tears streaming. We slowly leaned back.

His eyes shot open, and he gasped—

—_BANG!_

Even as I sat up, still half-conscious as I was in my dream— I knew she was running around now, pressing her lips to the others, they were sitting up and laughing—

The window in my room was open.

I heard the thunder of feet rushing up the stairs; my eyes still half-saw the wintery scene at the pavilion, and then there was a soft rapping against my door. "Bella? Are you okay?"

This shock was somehow even more unexpected. I fell from my bed, my blankets twisted around my legs. It took a moment for me to realise no one was here to hurt me. After another rapid succession of knocking, I untangled myself and shuffled over to the door. _Sure,_ now _he_ _knocks._

"Bella? Honey?"

I opened the door a sliver, the light searing into my eyes. "Yeah, Dad?" My voice came out in a croak. I began to shiver more violently as I felt how much warmer it was in the hallway, as though my body remembered what "body temperature" properly felt like.

"Bella, I've got to run to work, there's been a kidnapping so I want to make sure you weren't going anywhere, and I heard a sound..." He paused. "Can you open the door?"

_Kidnapping_? "Yeah, sure. Sec." I turned the lights on and let him in, hugging my arms around myself. "Everything okay?" I asked.

"It's freezing in here! Did you have the window open?" He looked over to my window.

I glared; _really?_ He was trying to blame me for this? "No, you opened it; like _twice._ It was stuck too..." I saw the window was shut once more, and turned back to Charlie with a frown. "Did you close it again?" I hadn't gotten it, I knew.

"Bella, I've been asleep— I haven't touched that window in weeks. How'd you even..."

Moment by moment, the situation melted into coherency. It was as though ice had formed around my mind while sleeping; my shield against reality trickled away into nothingness.

There was a closed window behind me, myself by the door, and Charlie.

My heart gave a heavy thud; another punch in the chest with adrenaline. We stared at each other.

He grabbed me and led me quickly downstairs— I tied my shoelaces with trembling hands, grabbed the truck keys— he threw a heavy coat over my shoulders— we were at the truck, I waited as he inspected the inside, and then we were pulling out of the driveway. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Bella, I'm taking you to the station with me, it'll be safe there. We're meeting Ari, and then she's taking me to help with the search— I'll add our house to the list. I promise everything will be alright."

I nodded mutely, staring insensibly at the darkness before me. The road was barely visible; the sky was so dark. The way the trees hung over the road reminded me terribly of the forest outside the Cullens' house. _This_ _has_ _all_ _been_ _too_ _much._ Between my day, my dreams, and the intruder, anything seemed possible now— even the black-out forest. Maybe there was some weird, magical way they were related? But no, that couldn't be it...

Then I remembered that someone _who_ _wasn't_ _me_ was kidnapped; a real person. Edward and Emmett had gone out, and it was so late— they might not have liked me worrying about them, but...

"Who was it that was kidnapped? Do you know?"

"Sorry, Bells. All I know is that it was a teenage girl."

I trembled more. What if... "I'm sorry, I'm just worried that it might have been one of the Cullens. They were all up pretty late; do you think I should call Alice and check on her, or...?"

He shot a look at me. "Hmm. You make friends in school? Never heard of these Cullens, but I'm glad you're making friends, honey. At least that's one piece of good news today."

I frowned. "Not just in school, Dad. I visited them, remember? That's why I got home so late. And... and you know about the Cullens! You told me about them!"

He sighed. "Bella, you were home right after school. We baked a pie. Remember? And I don't know who you're talking about. You sure you didn't have some kind of dream?"

"It wasn't a dream!" I exclaimed. "The Cullens, you know them! And I visited them!"

We halted at a stop sign. Charlie took that moment to look at me full in the face; concern lined his features. "Are you okay, Bella? Do you think maybe it's time you've seen... No, I know you don't, I'm sorry for asking," he said quickly; my revulsion must have shown on my face. "Look Bella, I know you're very frightened right now, but I _promise_ you, everything will be okay." His eyes were steel; his voice was leather. He turned back to the road, continuing our drive.

I looked out the window, trying not to cry. A break in the darkness caught my attention. The slight thinning of the treetops revealed flickering lights, not very distant from us. _Oh, __good. __We're __getting __closer __to __town... _The thought disconnected; those _weren't_ electric lights.

"_Dad!_" My voice came out shrill; I reflexively pressed my back into the seat.

Charlie noticed at the same time I did. He cursed thoroughly and pulled off the road. He stared into the trees for a long moment, then turned the car around. "Change of plans. I'm taking you to the Clearwaters', then I'll go to the station on my own-"

"Don't go," my voice was high, soft, and pathetic. I clutched at my chest, envisioning the scene; Charlie would rush straight into a fire if someone was in trouble. _I __know__ he_ _would__._

"It's my job, honey." He put a hand on my shoulder for a moment, then phoned his coworker.

As he spoke to her, I mulled over a lot of things. It was almost like my very presence had cursed the town; this was _Forks._ Teenage girls don't get kidnapped here. People don't sneak into third-story attics. Mysterious forests don't knock you out or warp time, or whatever. People don't forget about entire families...

A dreamy memory of fire and ice blazed through the back of my mind. Havoc and death, all sent away by the pure petulance of my dream-self. _If_ _only_ _real_ _life_ _could_ _be_ _like_ _that_... But how could Charlie forget about the Cullens? I wish I could still be in my room; show him my cookies, my bookmark, the books... What if they weren't there anymore? What if _they_ were but the _Cullens_ weren't there any more?

I didn't know what to do; just as I predicted, the second my life got "interesting", I became even more useless. Now people were getting kidnapped, my dad was going to rush into a fire, and I was finally losing it.

Charlie tightened his hand on my shoulder as the first volley of sobs ripped through my chest. He felt like my only tether to reality, and I covered my face with my hands to block all else out. He hushed vague assurances to me for the rest of the drive. They were empty, but they were everything.

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><p><strong>AN: Whew! Longest chapter to date— over 5000 words! Once again, if you'd be so kind as to leave a review, I'll love you forever. And ever. And _ever._ *Stare***


	9. Bella Takes Action

**UPDATE: Fresh Rain trigger warnings are now available in a link on profile page.**

**Go send your undying devotion to the Beta _Bloodredfirefly!_ She keeps my nonsense tidy.**

**Disclaimer: This isn't making me money.**

**Chapter**** Nine****:**** Bella Takes Action**

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><p>"<em>My<em> _every_ _move_ _is_ _guided_ _by_ _the_ _bidding_ _of_ _the_ _singer._

_The_ _night_ _is_ _split_

_by_ _the_ _whistle_ _of_ _my_ _amber_ _whip_

_and_ _the_ _fire_ _from_ _my_ _fingers._"

—Owen Pallett, _"Lewis_ _Takes_ _Action"_

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><p>By the time we pulled into the Clearwaters' driveway, all of my tears had been wrung dry; I was left aching. The sight of the house dulled the sensation; it was a comfortable, familiar place. I knew it well from my childhood, and it hadn't changed a bit. I was surprised to see light streaming from the windows onto the front lawn. Had Charlie called Harry without my noticing? I <em>had<em> been fairly distracted for most of the drive here; I wasn't exactly in a place for listening in to his conversations. (I was lucky to have _any_ stable thought at all.)

These considerations turned aside upon Charlie remarking about the lights; what were they doing awake at this hour? I heard the concern in his voice, and my stomach dropped when Harry stepped outside the house to meet us. He appeared every bit as agitated as my father had looked (and I had felt) upon realising the nature of my window problem.

Once we got within three steps of him, Charlie began, "Harry, I just heard a report of a kidnap, and I think someone's been in Bella's room too—"

"Leah." His voice was hard edged and lined with defeat. "Charlie, someone took Leah."

I couldn't take any more shocks; the news swept over me in a cold rush, and the business was done: I was completely numb. What followed passed by in a blur even as it occurred: Charlie made a strangled, groaning noise, we were led into the Clearwaters' kitchen, Harry and my father spoke in low voices, and then they were both gone. I sat on a stool behind a counter, hardly knowing what to think or feel. The lights felt harsh, but the darker rooms terrified me. I hadn't realised I wasn't alone until Harry's son, Seth, pushed a mug of hot chocolate into my numb hands. I stared at it a moment, feeling the prickle of heat work its way to my fingertips. I wrapped my hands fully around the mug, appreciating the warmth more than the beverage itself.

Seth, one foot shorter and three years younger than me, gave a gentle sort of pat on my shoulder and began bustling and humming in the kitchen. The cheery activity reminded me so terribly of my father, that although I felt myself melting down further into my seat in relaxation, I wanted to curl up and cry again. _I_ _feel_ _so_ _cut_ _in_ _half_ _now . . ._ _all_ _the_ _time._

"Come on Bella, it'll be all right. Here, I heated up some pasta. You look like someone who needs some hot food, right?"

My stomach hadn't ceased its churning, but once I smelled the food, it changed from a nauseated feeling to one of hunger. I dully recalled that I hadn't eaten since breakfast, apart from some cookies which may or may not have been given to me by an imaginary friend's mother. Locking the thought away, I pulled the plate toward me and dug in. My mind began turning again, slowly building up into a fast-paced whirl. "Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked. "I don't deserve... I mean, I should be the one comforting you."

He snorted. "Psht. Says who? Nah, I've got this. I've had a while to calm down, and nothing scary happened to me directly..." He paused, taking a sip of his own hot chocolate. "Okay, I'm actually _really_ freaked out, but I can handle it, you know? Someone has to."

I pulled idly at the few remaining noodles on my plate. "Did you... Have you eaten yet?" My stomach churned again, just once— a part of me noted dully that all the adrenaline must be wreaking havoc with my digestive system. A louder, forefront part of me (likely the same one that forgot to remind me to eat) worried that I'd just taken some frightened kid's dinner.

"Did I _eat?_ Like a pig. Did you see the pot they were cooked in? It was totally full. Pops had a bowl and so did you, and I ate the rest. Trust me, I won't need to eat again for... let's see, an hour or two?" He grinned broadly, and I guiltily felt a smile trying to pull at my mouth. I hastily shoved the last bite of noodles into my mouth and chewed rapidly, hoping to dispel the working grin.

"Hey now! No hiding smiles, my jokes aren't free. I'm paid in smiles. Smile!" I actually _snorted_ outright, and sprayed the last of my food down the front of my shirt. He laughed _uproariously_ at that.

"Never thought I'd see the super-intimidating bookworm do something like that!" _Intimidating?_ "Man, I wish I'd had a camera. _That'd_ cheer Leah and Pops up when they get back!" His eyes were bright; his laughter shook his body.

With this, I finally understood; the humour wasn't just for my sake. I was often the same way, wasn't I? This time though, I wasn't even bothering to attempt to push away severity with jokes. It was more like I was trying not to think at _all._

With _that_ thought, a memory blurred my vision: a recollection from when I was eleven. Leah, the older girl who was so cool for being a _teenager—_ she was trying to teach me to ice skate, as I stumbled and clutched desperately at her hand. Her younger brother and Billy Black's son zoomed around the ice, showing off...

We hadn't seen each other in years, and we hardly spent any time together or spoken much when we had. What right _did_ I have to be so upset? When her brother was here, even if it helped made him feel better too, his cheering me up was... But everything altogether, and with Charlie, it was just _too_ _much_ and I could feel myself shutting down again—

"I need to do something." I looked at Seth, and he grew silent. "If I don't do something, I'll just, I'd rather just—" _Just_ _what?_

"Bella, I get how you feel, really. I mean, do you think I like being stuck at home when my big sister is... But you know we can't. At least we'll be here in case she finds her way back, you know?"

I paused and debated with myself. Clearly he didn't know about the fires, but he _was_ going through more than me. Would it be right to tell him? I was going to leave, I _knew_ this, even if I had to wait until he fell asleep, I'd be leaving— would it be _right_ to drag a fourteen year old boy into this? Of course not.

"We saw some fires on the way out here. You _should_ stick around, but I sure as hell can't. My dad's out there, and he'll push himself right in the middle of it." _Damn me._

"What the hell is going on? Uh, rhetorical question." He scratched the back of his neck, and let himself fall into the chair next to me. "I wasn't kidding Bella, I really can't go. I need to wait here for Leah, and that _is_ doing something, even if it sure doesn't feel like it." He stared at me seriously; it was a strange expression on his face. I didn't like it there. "Bella. You... don't go, all right? I mean, you've got no transportation, the place is probably swarming with fire-fighters and cops— it's not like they'd let you stick around long— and, well, what would you _do?"_

"I don't know. I-I'd do _something!"_

"Why should you have to?"

"I already told you why. I just... have to."

"So you feel obligated. So why should you go, but I shouldn't? Don't tell me you think _I_ should be doing anything but keeping my butt at home."

I paused. "You already told me why. For Leah."

"It's not the only reason. I have the same reasons for staying that I gave for _you_ to stay. Just... have some more hot chocolate, and then go lie down for a while. Okay? Just— take ten minutes. You need to— well not calm down, that's not really it— you just need to chill. Sorry, sorry. But seriously."

There wasn't any argument I could give to that, and if there was, it didn't befriend me. "Alright. I... thanks. I still haven't finished my cocoa yet though, so..." I swept up the mug in my hands. "I want to sit outside for a while though. I just feel cooped up in here, no offense."

"None taken. I'm feeling it too." He grabbed his own mug, and we trooped out silently.

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><p>We talked for a long time that night, under a clouded sky reflecting crimson from flame. We talked about Leah, our parents— he talked about his mother's death the previous year (heart failure). How he had acted in his mother's place for Leah the first few months while she was still in shock; how Leah had eventually calmed down and returned the favour. We talked of worry, of fear, of distractions, and about what was important to us.<p>

Eventually, we lapsed into silence. We sat side by side, lost in our own worries, gazing into the sky. Two half-finished mugs of cocoa were left cold and forgotten on the table. I wondered how long it had been. When I looked to check my watch, it was missing— I must have taken it off before bed. I thought about my phone, my laptop, the books, everything I left at the house. Would the fires spread that far?

Seth noticed the movement of my arm, and inferred the reason for the action. "It's about half past four in the morning. Ugh, I have school tomorrow. Better sleep soon." I stared at him in wonder.

"Hey, you know my old man. It could be my own funeral and he'd expect me to be in school the next day. I'm going to head in — don't stay out too late, it's going to keep getting colder." He tossed a small crocheted blanket onto my lap. "The guest room is open, second floor. I left the light on, go sleep in there whenever you're ready." He squeezed my shoulder once — again reminding me of Charlie — and went inside. I turned back and continued my silent vigil, staring blankly into the red sky.

Half an hour passed, and I sat. Something in me blistered, something else bolstered; I blustered. The more time I spent out under that sky, the more the hollow feeling in my chest swelled with something else. Maybe it was the sky making me restless. Maybe I was just overtired. Whatever the cause, I eventually began to tremble with the energy and had to stand up to start pacing. Every minute or so, I would stop and look into the forest, listening— for what, I didn't know.

All I knew was that I was sick of being useless. A waste. Someone in the way. A child.

Maybe I was losing it. Maybe it was teenage rebellion. But in that case, it was only right. What do rebellious teenagers do? They run away, of course. I'd been a very good girl for a long time, and gave society and my parents no trouble. I was due for a bit of rebellion.

I took one last look in the house to make sure Seth was really asleep; he was on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around a cushion. I decided against writing a note, but instead crept upstairs to shut the light off in the guest room and close the door.

With that, I took off into the forest, following the line of the road. Out of sight, but ready to make a noticeable difference. I was sick of being taken care of; it was _my_ turn.

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><p>Needless to say, I found myself completely exhausted in the woods an hour later.<p>

I was in turmoil. Hadn't I already admitted to myself that I was all but useless? What had I been _thinking?_ It wasn't like I had a plan— what could someone like me possibly do? What if I just got in the way? Who was I to decide it was my place to get involved? So I had a weird day. So someone snuck in my room. Why should that mean I had the right to interject myself in the situation?

Once I began pulling at the threads, I began to unravel. What the hell was I doing? I was alone in the middle of the woods by an empty road that would _remain_ empty for _hours_. I was too far to make my way back to the Clearwater's before collapsing, completely useless for my 'mission', and now I was _crying_. Great.

I could still see the red haze of the flames refracting off the clouds in the distance. I sat heavily on a fallen tree by the roadside. _Why_ _aren't_ _I_ _strong_ _enough_? _Why_ _couldn't_ _I_ _just_— _No_. I checked the thought quickly. This had nothing to do with motivation, or being physically or mentally weak. It had simply been blatant, childish stupidity. I had reacted to a bad situation out of confusion, and in my determination to do the impossible, I hadn't bothered to come up with a _way_ to make it possible. I'd just blazed forward. Now I was stuck.

The night was dreadfully quiet and wrongfully still. My apprehension magnified for each minute the red sky, my only source of light, remained. Someone would find me on the road in the morning, but the fires were constantly feeding and destroying. Why weren't they put out yet? It rains so often in Forks, and this was a particularly wet night. It was hard to believe the flames could spread readily.

_Just_ _like_ _the_ _ice,_ _then?_ Having nothing but my mind for company, I had no will or way to cast aside remembrances of that dream. Had some instinctive part of me sensed the fire, even while asleep?

My thoughts were broken off by a loud rumble in the distance, more felt than heard. It reminded me of being a child, when my mom and I once lived in a more rural area. I would feel my school bus approaching from miles away. It had a different tenor from the other cars, and when you were waiting alone in that early morning silence...

My heart swelled. A _bus_. I wasn't stuck here anymore... but where should I go? Back to the Clearwater's, or toward the fires? To my house- okay, definitely not there. The bus was coming from the Reserve, where I'd set out; that meant it was heading toward town. Well, a transfer to a different bus would waste time anyway. I might as well go to the fires, where I then would... do something.

After a few moments, I saw the headlights of the vehicle approaching— no, head_light._ Only one. _That's_ _not_ _a_ _bus._ I should have known it was too good to be true; it was way too early for buses to be out. This isn't the city, after all; Fork's transit was hardly reliable.

Still, it would certainly be someone from the Reserve, and Charlie had taken me there almost every day when I used to visit him. Harry was popular and an important person there, so just by being at a few of his barbecues I was introduced to probably twenty families. There was a good chance I might know whomever it was, or know someone they did. It would be worth it to try and hitch a ride. I mentally tried to recall names, which wasn't too difficult— I couldn't recall any faces though. It was too long ago, and I was _terrible_ with faces to begin with. I was lucky if I recognised my own grandmother...

I shook myself out of my reverie as the motorcycle approached. I moved closer to the side of the road and waved my arm out, shouting for attention. Luckily the speed limit was pretty low in this area, and the reddish glow in the sky probably made me easy to see— and he was a nice enough person to stop. Whatever the case, he noticed me and gracefully slowed to a halt directly before me.

He cut the engine, but kept his lights on— not that he needed them to see, but probably to alert any other vehicles that came by on the road. _Come_ _to_ _think_ _of_ _it,_ _not_ _many_ _people_ _would_ _be_ _out_ _on_ _a_ _motorbike_ _at_ _this_ _hour._ _Talk_ _about_ _a_ _lucky_ _break_—

Oh my gosh.

"Hey," he said, pulling off his helmet and revealing long, raven hair. "What're you doing out here at a time like this? Where you headed? You alright?" He dismounted the bike and took a step closer.

I gaped.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "See something you like?"

"Uhm, yeah. Hello, sexy," I moved forward closer, crouching down by the bike. "And what is your name?"

He laughed and knelt beside me, pointing to some letters on the side. "_That_ is the most beautiful thing you will ever see in your life— a Series C Vincent Black Shadow."

"You're full of it. You can't be older than me, and with that kind of money you could buy a _house."_

"Yeah, don't mention that to my Dad. I found her in a junkyard— probably some old fart decided her hubby's old bike was taking up precious garage space."

"How did no one else..? I mean, it's— I mean..."

"Yeah, I know. Enough about that though. What are you doing out here, Isabella?"

I looked up sharply. "Pardon me; do I know you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Jacob Black. Your dad used to take you up to visit. Also, I'm your truck's old owner-slash-mechanic."

"Oh, geez! Sorry about that; I'm bad with faces." We shook hands. "Wait... Are you really old enough to drive?"

"Nope!" he said proudly.

"Ah. Well I need a ride regardless. Care to help a damsel out?"

"Possibly, depending. What's your story?"

"What's yours? You're younger and thereby more fragile."

"There's fires out there. I'm pretty sure fire isn't ageist."

I decided not to bring up his jibe about 'old farts'. "So you know about the fires? What else do you know?"

"Yeah. And I also know there's a kidnapper who took a woman. So it's more dangerous for you." I stared at him; he nodded to himself. "And you don't look surprised to hear about it. Do you know who it was? The woman, I mean."

"Yes. Do you?"

"Uh-huh. So can you understand why I'm heading out towards town?"

"Yes. With all that and knowing me, can you guess why I am?"

He paused here, thinking. "Probably worried about her, and wanting to find her like I am. Maybe worried about your dad, too? Nah, I'd guess you'd be used to it, since he's a cop. Maybe you want to be a detective yourself? I remember you read a lot of Sherlock."

I blushed, once again wondering if my chasing after Charlie was stupid or pointless. His looking for Leah seemed much more _noble_ than the police officer's daughter running off to get in the way. I changed my mind then and there— if I saw Charlie in trouble, I'd do what I could to help. For the most part though, I'd be on the search. Dad and the others might be too distracted with the fires to try and find her... Wait.

"Yeah; you got me. Same reason as you, trying to find Leah. Speaking of detectives though, don't you think the timing of the fires was a little too coincidental? Think it might be a distraction?"

"Of course. Good thing we have no legal duties to take care of the fires, and there are other people working to keep the public safe. We're pretty much free to find ourselves a kidnapping douche-bag."

I ducked my head. "Speaking of _finding_ a kidnapping, uhm, jerk... Do you have any leads, Captain?"

He deflated. "Nope."

"Well, crap."

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><p>She shook as she gazed at the flickering lights. She could see the fires spreading, even at this distance. She could tell where they were; it was a residential area.<p>

_This_ _wasn't_ _part_ _of_ _his_ _plan._ Her advantage was gone, burning away in front of her.

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><p>She kneels on the cold ground, white expanse stretching before her. Her hand closes around something small, half buried in the snow.<p>

"Hey, what are you doing? We need help repairing the Comm."

She keeps her back to him. "Nothing. I'll be back with everyone in a moment." Her voice doesn't betray her. _Betrayal..._

Those thoughts could wait; she was needed. She would rejoin her group, and she knew no one would notice a change in her mood. Her face would betray nothing and her eyes would be perfectly dry. Yes, because there was nothing _there_ to betray. Nothing but herself.

Her fist unclenched, dropping a twisted and charred wristwatch into the snow.


	10. Sandcastle Under Tempest

**The Rosetta Stone to my incomprehensible babble: _Bloodredfirefly!_**

**Disclaimer: '_Fan_fiction'... We use that word a lot. I do not think it means what you think it means.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Sandcastle Under Tempest<strong>

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><p>Jacob Black and I eventually decided that the best course of action would <em>not<em> be to speed off without any idea of where to go. Unfortunately, this required asking for _help._ This conclusion, of course, was only accepted after a long period of mutual grimacing and fruitless brainstorming. The best alternative plan we could think of was tuning into police broadcasts— which neither of us knew how to do. (The worst part was that it was _my_ idea and, being Charlie's daughter, I _should_ have known.)

"Okay, well, who do you think she would have been with before she went missing?"

"Uh..." He kicked aimlessly at his bike tire. "I don't know, I guess her brother or her dad."

"We are _not_ calling Seth."

"Right, forgot you were a runaway."

Even though it was the exact term I had mentally used for myself, I still scowled. "I was just dropped off there, Charlie didn't say I _had_ to stay. Besides, Seth's just a kid. It's not like he was in charge of me."

"Sure, sure. If that's how it is, you shouldn't be worried after all. Want to call him? Or how about your dad? I bet he'd be _real_ helpful."

"Fine, okay, you win. Can you think of anyone else... please?"

He sighed. "I don't know, I mean... Oh, wait. Do you think I should try calling Sam?"

I stared at him blankly. "I've been in Forks for one day, for the first time in two years. I don't know who that is."

He raised his eyebrows. "Damn, I forgot about that. Some first day back."

"You're telling me."

"Well anyway, Sam is her boyfriend. She's not in school anymore, so it wouldn't surprise me if she was at his place at some point tonight." He looked up at the sky. "Or last night, I guess."

"Do you think it might be a false alarm? Or maybe _he_ was the one who_..._"

"Nah, their parents know all about them— and they're totally psyched about it. Important family unions and all that jazz, probably already naming their future kids for them..." He trailed off, and we were quiet for a moment. I tried not to think about what Leah's future might look like now.

"Okay, so this Sam could have noticed her missing and called the police."

Jacob perked up slightly. "Well, yeah! Hey, you know, your cops aren't really supposed to get involved with what happens on our land. So if he called, he probably thought she could be in town. If that's right, then we're at least headed in the right direction. Or at least I was, until I found you."

"In that case, maybe the fires aren't a distraction. Maybe she's out there, and..."

There was another dejected silence; it was several minutes before Jake spoke up. "Still, it'd be worth it to call Sam. I bet he's looking for her too. Heck, almost _definitely_ him and all our friends— I _knew_ I should have checked in, but I thought they might... _Ugh,_ I'm such a dumb-ass. But you know, when my dad told me about her going missing, he was complaining about not being able to help search..." He saw my confusion. "Well, how did you think I found out about it in the first place? Man, it took _forever_ for me to get away, too. He stayed up way too late; I bet he knew what I was thinking. Had to sneak through my bedroom window and roll my bike a mile down the road so he wouldn't hear the engine and wake up. I'm just lucky nobody else caught me leaving."

"So you're a runaway, too."

"Didn't say I had a problem with runaways." He broke into a cheeky grin, and for the first time in a while, I laughed— and began to feel hopeful.

"Okay, so we either just head toward the fires, or call Sam. We'll find her in no-time, either way. Piece of cake!"

"Damn straight!" He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Heck, I'm just surprised neither of us ran into the Rez search party when we ran off. If nobody's caught him yet, then that kidnapping douche-nozzle is in for a hell of a surprise! That's what he gets for messing with werewolves!"

He froze and stared at me in absolute horror. I stared back in utter confusion.

"... What."

* * *

><p>"But you shouldn't have been <em>physically<em> _able_ to tell her!" shouted the lanky one, Paul.

We had moved into the forest at this point. Jake was hunched forward, leaning against his bike, gripping at his hair. I stood across from him, my back against a tree. We were surrounded by... werewolves.

"You think I don't know that?" Jake snapped.

"Well, maybe she's one of us," said the stocky one, Quil. "Hey, d'you think her mom might've, you know, _strayed?_"

Before, when Jake initially let the word "werewolf" slip, he ignored my questions and began to tremble violently. His pupils shrank into pinpricks, and every muscle in his body _tensed,_ seeming to lengthen and bulge outward. His lips pulled past his teeth in a snarl (_Good_ _God,_ _are_ _his_ _teeth_ _growing or his_ _gums_ _receding?)_, and his pupils dilated again impossibly, fully filling his irises...

"No way," Jared laughed. "She's pale as a sheet."

...His snarl had scared me; I took a quick step back. Everything from the set of his face (it was like his muscles or bones had shifted to the wrong places) to his posture _(can_ _wolves_ _actually_ _stand_ _like_ _that?_ _Can_ _anything?)_ seemed completely and utterly _wrong_. For the longest time, he just stood and stared at me. Moments after I finally had enough control over myself to tell him _'Hey,_ _you_ _don't_ _actually_ _look_ _like_ _much_ _of_ _a_ _proper_ _werewolf,'_ the others had arrived. I later came to learn that werewolves could somehow hear each other's thoughts from a distance; so as soon as Jake transformed, they were able to find us...

"Yeah, but my mom used to know her mom— I've seen photos. Her mom's so white she's practically an albino. Might've been enough to even out?"

...While not being _proper_ werewolves, being surrounded by tall, twisted, muscular men who were growling and snarling was rather discomposing. It was even worse when, one by one, they started to... come down from it. It looked like they were making a physical effort to unclench their muscles, the strange, jutting aberrations in their faces sinking away. Their pupils flickered rapidly between the pinpricks and dilation for a long while, even when their body structures and expressions went back to normal. That was disturbing, to say the least. Even _worse_ was when they started asking what the heck Jacob was thinking, and what the flying... crap I was doing there.

"Really?" Jared seemed thoughtful.

"Hey, Bella, do you think you're a half-albino werewolf?" asked the tall one, Embry, amiably.

"Will you guys knock it off?" Jake said.

"No," I broke in. "I look too much like my dad, sorry." ...Really though, after so many shocks in one day, you get to the point where you can think, _Telepathic_ _fur-less_ _werewolves?_ _Well,_ _why_ _not._ Might as well roll with it. At one point I vaguely began to wonder if I really was a fairy princess, like I thought at age seven. _Clearly_ gone off the deep-end. Ha. Ha. _Ha._

"This is bogus," Paul scoffed, leaning against a chain-link fence.

"Great, not only do I end up surrounded by non-werewolves, they're non-werewolves that are stuck in the nineties," I said. A few of the boys rolled their eyes at the sarcasm. _Really_ _though,_ _why_ _couldn't_ _it_ _have_ _been_ _an_ _eighties_ _Goblin_ _King?_

"Speaking of being stuck in the nineties," Quil said, "Could you try calling Sam's cell, Jake? You're the only one who has a cell phone, and none of us could remember his new number. We haven't heard him while in phase, and we couldn't reach his home phone before we left."

"Wouldn't that make sense?" I asked. "I mean, it seems like he'd know about her before anyone else, so it's unlikely he'd still be at home. If you can't, uh, _hear_ him, he must be out searching... 'on foot'."

"Yeah, and Jake, man, and you've got a _lot_ of explaining to do," Embry started ticking on his fingers. "Going on a search when you're grounded from pack activity without informing the Alpha, driving a motorcycle off-territory without a license, dragging a teenage girl along with you (with only one helmet, might I add), proceeding to share the secret with her..."

Jake ignored him. "Geez, you guys need to get phones with a damn contact list! You're all hopeless. And Quil, I'd already exposed us at that point, of _course_ I thought phasing would be easier. What does Sam think he's _doing?_ There's no point in _him_ going out 'on foot'."

"Maybe he thought driving would be easier?"

"Don't be stupid, he wouldn't be able to catch her scent like that."

"Well _duh,_ he'd roll the windows down!"

"Oh you _idiot,_ we can barely smell better than _normal_ people when we're out of phase!"

"_What_ did you just say?!"

The wolf boys continued arguing for a while longer; I tuned them out. This was just _way_ too much. Could all of this actually be real? Was I going to wake up any second? Am I in a hospital somewhere, finally overcome by my unwillingness to participate in the real world? Was I staring at a ceiling miles away, unseeing, lost completely to my fantasies?

But what if this was all _real?_ I wondered what my mom would think. Would she have been excited? She loved fantasy stories, I knew. Then again... she was still a mom. She'd probably haul my butt down to Florida without a second thought.

I tried not to think of what Charlie would say. I tried not to think about my dad at _all_ because then my stomach would squirm and the smell of fire would seem to get stronger and... and _werewolves_ existed and Leah was out there somewhere and... _It's_ _all_ _just_ _too_ _much._

The tears came suddenly, quietly. I slid down to sit and rested my face on my knees, trying to pass it off so it looked like I was just sleepy; I didn't want the boys to notice. They surely must have though, because they stopped shouting after that, reducing their arguments in volume if not in strength. They shifted a few feet further away from me, perhaps so I couldn't hear them, or just to give me space. Grateful for the gesture either way, I allowed my feelings to wash through me. It was the first time I'd cried in front of anyone but my Father in two years— the first time I'd cried in front of anyone outside my family since the day I was born. This time, just this time, I wouldn't allow myself to consider it weakness. _It's_ _okay._ _It'll_ _all_ _be_ _okay._ The tears poured down my face like a fresh rain in spring. I could feel the frozen stiffness in my face melting away; exposed. Somehow, even with periodic hiccups and sniffling, I'd never felt cleaner or more relaxed.

* * *

><p><strong>SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON<strong>

I slowly ran my whip down the spine of the cowering figure that lay below me, enjoying the shudders rippling down their back.

"I will only say this one last time. Be silent. Submit."

"Y-yes..."

The phone chose that moment to ring.

"Oh dear," I said. "It's your cell. Persistent, aren't they?"

With much difficulty and creative squirming, the figure rolled to face up with a sigh. "Damn. You'd think after disconnecting the landline they'd take a hint. Can you grab it real quick?"

"Yes, sweetie." I walked over to his coat, and after a little rummaging, found the offending cellphone. "It's Jacob Black."

"The hell's he want? I'm sorry Emily, could you hand me the phone, please?" He finally seemed to recall his manners; he wasn't exactly in a place to be rude.

I hid a smile, opened the phone, and placed it in his still-bound hands. He fumbled for a moment, eventually managing to hit the call button with his nose. "What do you want? I'm busy."

Sam must have accidentally activated the speakerphone; Jake's voice was clearly audible. "Yeah, I know man, but this is important."

"Nothing can possibly be more important than what I'm doing right now," he snapped.

"Yeah, I know, I _know_, and I'm sorry_._ I'm looking for her too, but I need to know _where_ to look."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" He looked to me, but I could only shrug.

Jake's voice hissed out more loudly from the speaker. "Hey, I know you think I'm just a punk kid, but I'm as worried about Leah as you are, all right? She's basically family!"

"Leah? What the hell are you talking about?"

There was a pause, and I felt myself beginning to tremble. I started untying the bonds, just to give my hands something to do. _What's_ _wrong?_ I didn't want to think about Leah right now, I'd already hurt her so much...

"Dude! What gives? Leah's been kidnapped! Weren't you the one who reported it? Didn't anyone _tell_ you?"

Sam jolted upright at the waist. "What?"

"The whole pack's out, we're all running blind trying to look for her! I'm headed out toward town myself! Heck, I've even got... Where _is_ she though? How couldn't you have _known?_"

"How am I supposed to know? How was I supposed to have _known_? I— I didn't have my landline plugged in!"

"She's your girlfriend, isn't she? I mean-"

"We broke up!" I finally had both his hands unbound; he started to throw on his pants. "If you actually _phased_ now and then, you'd have known that!"

"You're one to talk, and you're the fucking pack leader! I don't _care_ if you're not dating her! And why the _hell_ did you unplug your phone?"

My trembling increased the more Sam became agitated. _He_ was shaking so hard now that the whole _bed_ was. I quickly sprang up and quietly got dressed, trying not to think about her, trying not to be afraid of him. _'It's_ _not_ _his_ _fault!'_ I wanted to whimper, or maybe shout.

As suddenly as he had begun panicking, Sam reflexively cocked his head to the side, and became very still. "Jake, who is that? I hear someone... crying? That's not one of the boys. It sounds like a— Oh, rather, who is _she_? Did you manage to _imprint_ without me hearing about it, too? If that's the case, you can't just drag her around on pack business, you should have talked to me about-"

"Uh, yeah... about that. About her. Uh, she's not an imprint. It's a long, weird story. Look, can you just go out and _phase?_ I've already talked to everyone else, and we could _really_ use a pack leader right about-"

"She's not an... Wait, _what?_"

I shuffled out into the kitchen, putting on a pot of tea. The stove hadn't been lit for ten seconds before Sam ran through, still shirtless, half transformed, and _tore_ through the front door.

Sighing, I got myself a mug and stared at the splintered frame; this time it would take a lot more work before the door could be refitted.

A cold breeze flitted through the room. _It_ _can_ _wait_ _until_ _after_ _the __tea._

* * *

><p><strong>SOMEWHERE (ELSE) IN WASHINGTON<strong>

**[And quite a few hours ago]**

It was the only thing she could do— she ran. No matter the fires, no matter how his plans might have changed, or what else went awry— she would still act as she had long since decided. There was still a small and dimly beating hope that she'd be able to keep his plans from reaching fruition.

She would have to find _them,_ and she would have to help _her._

As for finding _them,_ it was honest-to-goodness the last thing in the world she would have ever wanted to do. That pale, sickly skin, those creepy glowing eyes, and that _stench_. It seemed to wrap around everything within reach; a cloying, rotting perfume... Fortunately, she wouldn't have to deal with them immediately. The girl was more important.

_The_ _girl._ How strange that she had come think of her in that way. Was it from the many months under that madman's care; had she simply adopted his heartless title? Or was it she herself who changed? To be sure, she'd had to shield everything she loved, to lock away all her lifetime of feelings. So many people she'd had to leave behind, so many more she'd had to pretend to hate... So worth it, so infinitely worth it to protect them.

Her mind felt more free then ever; she could let the loneliness show on her face, let the rage sweep her up— such sweet bliss, such release, when she began to shake! She let the anger consume her; for the first time, she gladly accepted the wolf's mind— accepted with her whole body. This was who she was. She understood now, and this was how she could protect what was rightfully hers. He would not get in her way.

Such a vile, disrespectful, misogynistic, idiotic man! He thought so very well of himself; so very clever! Yes, yes, he saw himself as a deity among mortals, didn't he? What a savior, what a martyr_,_ oh _please._ It was people like him, people who trusted so blindly in what they thought was true— she hated that the most. He had never for a _second_ thought to question himself, to _think_, to try to find out more. His disdainful conceit had become her blessing; it kept her secret, her weapon.

She could not, would not help him. _She_ was the exception: a wolf in sheep's clothing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries! Now go review, or I shall taunt you a second time. [/MontyPython]**


	11. Lucid Lurid

**A/N: ****The Mii-chan to my Shigure: _Bloodredfirefly!_**

**Disclaimer: the world is not mine / but some ideas are mine / please do not sue me**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven, Act 0: <strong>_**?**_

The Early Ones

A Historical Memoir

Vol. II, Chapter Sixteen

The Queen of Flame. Lady of the Thorns. The Shifting Smoke. Jolie Goodfellow.

In this day and age, for all the knowledge society has been able to provide us, nobody has been able to say for certain where she came from. Rumours and speculation have set her as having been born in areas ranging from Nippon (historically "Japan"), British Columbia, Canada, and the Western U.S.A. We always have that one friend or co-worker who claim to be directly related to her, but our best historians have been unable to trace her true name— let alone her family line.

I for one can say that I've seen her. Just once— enough to garner her name, and later, understand what my encounter meant. Far too young was I at the time to notice history in front of me. For one, I was only educated in what related to musical journalism. For another, naturally, I was only concerned by what happened to myself in the _context_ of myself. So imagine my shock, thirty-two years later, when the weight of relevance fell upon me in realisation. My husband nearly fainted dead away when I told him! Knowing my good treasure as I did then led me to write these accounts, and decided me to dedicate my life to studying our histories.

With accuracy I can announce to the world that she was, in fact, from the North-Western U.S.A., in Washington. While the scholars cheer to find they were so close with her location, let it be known that she had a relative who went on to live in the Hawaiian Islands— and later, as my research has told me, relocated to Hokkaido in Nippon.

Again, I did not come to learn this from records, I did not find a treasure trove of diaries and heirlooms— No. She was the one who found me. On that day, she saved my life directly. Not just mine— that's right. In all my cheerful naivete, I managed to do what every scholar has always held as their first and most desperate wish. I ran across her on Burning Day. _The very first one._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven, Act I: Lucid Lurid<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>"Dammit! Dammit! <em>Dammit!"<em> Fists pounding against the ground, eyes streaming. _My fault my fault my fault—_

"_It's no one's fault, Lee-Lee,"_ he'd said. _"Not you, not me, not Emily. Please-"_

It _was_ my fault, it was my fault and my stupid heritage and my stupid body. I wasn't allowed to be with him, I wasn't built right, there was something _wrong_ with me.

The image of Sam's face swam before me, and then from nowhere,

"_You're __too young to be going off to see that Sam Uley all the time like this! What about college?" _Mom. I remember... We were in the kitchen, then. I'd just come back from Sam's house, it was probably around one in the morning. For all the arguments we'd ever had, I'd _never_ seen her so pissed off.

"_Dear, please. Sam's been having a rough time of it, it's not too bad to let her-"_ That's right. Dad understood. Even if I hadn't really known what Sam's real problem was at the time, Dad had always supported me going out to see him. Anytime Mom and I fought, though, he'd have this pained look on his face. All those secrets were hard on him, I think.

"_I don't care what you say about him— that boy means trouble! Nothing but a lazy lout, and you'll be just like him if you keep this up, girl!"_

_I'd never been so angry at her in my life. Why couldn't she understand how _good _he was? I wasn't stupid. I knew he wasn't telling me the whole story of what was wrong, but I was terrified for him. Couldn't she see how important that was? Didn't she and Dad love his family anyway? Why didn't they trust him?_

_It just wasn't _right!_ The more I thought, the more the anger built up inside me until I was _shaking_, and then—_

_Shaking _hurting_ bending breaking _hurting_ stretch eyes vision spinning _hurtinghurting_ taller burning enraged how _dare_ she—!_

_Soft brown eyes, wide. She fell to her knees, clutching her heart._

_I looked at myself; twining muscle bulging and protruding sickly under my skin, a low growl trying to claw its way up my throat. I looked back at my mother, as she gasped for breath, face hidden as she looked at the floor._

_Then Dad was grabbing my arm, "Seth! Seth, I'm sorry, I need you to call 9-11. Crush up an aspirin and have Mom take it, it's her heart!"_

_There was Seth, standing blank-faced at the top of the stairs, gripping a railing. Too frightened to think._

_I was being pulled outside. Still so angry, still so frightened. My stumbling feet half dragged to a clearing in the woods by the house. Dad still stood tall and imposing. Though I felt so powerful, I felt so weak. I knew that I wanted something; there was a wordless anxiety, a restlessness like a craving— but my mind couldn't clear enough to tell me what it was. Everything felt too _quiet.

"_Tense all the muscles in your arms and legs, and relax them. Just imagine them melting back into normal. It should work."_

_Hardly thinking, I did as I was told, scrunching up my face, too. As I relaxed, as I became normal, it felt like being submerged in lukewarm water._

"_Daddy?"_

"_I'm going inside to take care of your mother; don't worry, it will be fine. I'll send Seth out to sit with you. In the meantime, I doubt your anger will come shift your body again without your permission. We'll talk about it later. Okay?"_

_I nodded. Somehow, I knew what was happening. A little. Bedtime stories. This was all too real, though. I held out and inspected my arms, my hands, expecting them to twist. The air smelled too damp, humid earth and moss thick in my nostrils. My vision was swimming, but everything looked too sharp—_

_For all my mind being preoccupied, I still heard Seth approach. When I looked up, his head was down, his long, choppy hair shielding his face. Lines around his mouth were tense. "Seth..." He probably hated me. He was afraid of me. He must be. After all, _I_ hated me. _I_ was afraid of me._

_He didn't say anything for a while, but then his hands were on my shoulders, pressing me to sit on a rock. He knelt behind me, threw his arms atop my shoulders, rested his chin on my head, and let his body weight fall forward. _

_Automatically I said, "For the last time Seth, I'm not a table. You're heavy. Cut it out."_

_He shook with his laughter. And then, so did I. Tears falling loosely onto the ground. We could cry without having to cry. We could break without having to break._

* * *

><p><em>That<em> _was_ _last_ _spring,_ _right?_ Like I could ever forget.

A couple of months later, Emily would come to help us take care of things. It was wonderful having her around. We'd been holding on fine on our own, but Dad wanted her there as support; he wanted me to start looking into colleges. It was near the end of summer; she'd decided to take a half year with us. She'd found a local job. Then, she'd found Sam.

Sam found her, too. That was just in September— _has_ _it_ _really_ _only_ _been_ _a_ _month?_— and in hindsight, it was amazing that she had been with us so long without seeing him. If only I'd known... would I have stopped them from meeting?

Now it seemed like every day dragged, and sometimes it would build up to where I couldn't stop myself from breaking apart. Most days I would be fine, but then, days like today would happen. Where I'd need to run, to find a quiet place, and let everything come to burst... They were so happy though, even if it meant I had to be alone. _No,_ _not_ _alone_, _but..._

Of course it's not the worst thing that can happen to a person. But you can't just go around comparing every sadness to accidentally killing your own mother. Carrying a measuring stick my whole life... I can't live like that. I don't think anyone can.

The flood of memory slowly ebbed away, the world fading back to where I really was. The bright neon signs in the plaza, illuminating the near-empty parking lot. The night sky thick with clouds, obscuring the stars and moon. Knuckles covered in sticking blood stark against tarmac; they should already be healed, though. I kind of hated that. I hated everything. The worst part were those little bits of me whispering, _not_ _alone,_ _still_ _have_ _Seth,_ _still_ _have_ _Dad,_ _still_ _have_ _the_ _boys—_

It wasn't going to help me right now, it only made it worse. I _wanted_ to hurt, to feel alone. I wanted nothing more than to run_,_ to just go wild and tear through the woods. What could I do, though, when they'd be able to hear me? Ask them to break patrol because I needed to have a meltdown?

Blood pulsed, heart still beating me up from the inside, _damn_ I wanted to break something, I didn't want to sit here and keep _thinking—_

"_We_ _already_ _knew_ _some_ _of_ _the_ _myths_ _were_ _true."_

_Screw_ _your_ _myths!_ My fist flung out automatically, right into the side of the car, metal grinding up to meet the sides of my knuckles, splintering.

I stared. _Shit._

"Shitshitshit— No, no... Oh, _shit,_" Dad was going to _kill_ me, I couldn't believe myself, it was _right_ _next_ to the gas tank and what if I broke something and there was no covering this up and I _promised_ him I would be careful and now I'd have to explain and _oh_ _shitshitshit—_

"Is something the matter, Miss?"

I nearly burst out of my skin. I had been so preoccupied that I hadn't even heard him approach. The man was hyper-tall, had perfectly even, chin-length black hair, and wore a venomously lurid suit. As if that weren't bad enough, he had this wide, toothy smile. I hated him immediately. "No Sir, just a lover's spat with my car. If you'll excuse me."

"Oh, I see." He moved closer to peer at the damage. "Have a bit of a bump in with something? I'm no mechanic, but don't fret; she looks like she'll run as well as she ever did."

"He," I grumbled. _Mechanic..._ _Oh,_ _duh._ _I_ _should_ _call_ _Jake._ _He'll_ _keep_ _quiet,_ _probably._

When the man knelt next to me, I caught a nose-full of the most godawful reeking cologne, and had to actively resist from kicking him in the face. _Gotta_ _keep_ _my_ _temper,_ _Geez._ _Focus._ I stood up and shifted slightly away from him, leaning against the driver's side door.

"Yeah, great, thanks. I'll just be off then," I said. The guy was giving me mega-creep vibes— though to be fair, when I'm pissed off, _everyone_ gave me mega-creep vibes.

"Oh, please hold a moment before you trot off!" Evidently unconcerned for his egregious suit, he laid his back against the damp ground and tucked his arm up under the car. With his hand on the other side, the dent started pushing outward— there was a tinny whine of protesting metal. The man emerged from underneath and inspected the surface, then gently brushed his hand over the splintering shards. In seconds it was completely smoothed out.

"There. Good as new, as they say! Right?"

…

"Well, the paint's still chipped a tad, but what can you do."

…

"You're about to hit me, aren't you? If I ask politely, would you refrain?"

"Erghn."

"Well, yes, I imagine that may have been a _shade_ unexpected."

"Hmgf?"

"Well really, I was planning on telling you about it anyway. Just thought I'd help out first. Ought I have given a warning? It would have been a bit startling at any rate, I think."

"...!?"

"Ah. Would you like to sit down? Or, if you'd feel more comfortable, I see a _delightful_ café over yonder. You seem like someone who enjoys her coffee, if I'm any judge of character. Also, I suppose, you would prefer to be around 'witnesses'? No offense darling, but I'd rather _you_ not beat me up either. Though I suppose it's possible that you may not be able to. Ha-ha!"

I stared.

"Well?"

"...Sure. Fine. Whatever." What was I supposed to do, call him a _freak?_ I mean, join the club.

* * *

><p>I sourly sipped at my tea outside the shop. We were seated on tall stools, beneath floral faux-brocade table umbrellas. The light streaming from the café windows cast us into peculiar shadow; soft, but latticed. Wrought fencing weaved an iron lace of vines, which supported pots of wilting begonias. The night was still, and a fog was starting to bloom outward from the valleys in the distance. I know this because I was looking at everything that was not <em>him<em>.

It's odd how nosy, flamboyant men start to seem _interesting_ once you find out they're dangerous and potentially sociopaths. At least he reeked like _au_ _de_ _morte._

He pulled a violently violet velvet cloth from his breast pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. After pawing through a small satchel, occasionally omitting small interrogative noises— _hmm?_ — _ah?_ — _oh_ _Gloria_ _and_ _tizzies,_ _where_ _on_ earth _did_ _I_ _put_ _that_ _blasted_ _thing?_ — he procured a mesh cup that resembled a large thimble or a small waste bin.

Not that I noticed any of this, because I was definitely not watching him. The tea was very good though. Jasmine with milk. No sugar. It tasted like incense smoke, like a diluted decoction of calmness. Burning leaves on an autumn evening...

"So! Let's get to it." He steepled his fingers under his chin gaily, knees together with legs flung out near perpendicular under his seat, swinging his feet back and forth.

_Dammit._

"Okay. What is _with_ you?"

He balled up his hands, jamming them into his cheeks as he thought. "Well, I've got my clothing, my purse, an umbrella-"

This was going to be a long night.


	12. Florid Virid

**A/N: Warning: Paragraphs.**

**Disclaimer: I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can so I can, read on the computer without straining my eyes. If I owned Twilight, I could hand-write chapters and pay someone to transcribe them.**

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><p><strong>Chapter<strong>** Twelve, Act II: Florid Virid**

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><p><em>脳味噌 常に震わせて<em>

_荒々と 運命にそむく_

_もういっそ 俺に生まれたなら_

_君をぶっ生き返す__!_

_My brain's constantly shaking_

_I violently defy fate_

_If I could be reborn into me then I might as well _

_beat you back to life!_

— Maximum the Hormone, _"Buiikikaesu"_

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><p><strong>Leah and ..?<strong>

**October 3rd, 09:15 PM**

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><p>Leah hadn't been speaking with him for five minutes, and she already felt exhausted. For someone who claimed to want to talk to her about— well, whatever was up with him— he sure wasn't doing much to convey that. After he had finished rattling off his possessions, he had gone back to fussing with his mesh cup. He hovered over it in thoughtful examination, sporadically crooking his head at odd angles to better see. Occasionally he would nudge the cup over some fraction of a millimeter. <em>I don't know what you're doing,<em> Leah thought acerbically, _but I'll bet anything that it doesn't even matter. You're messing with me._

She had just made up her mind to grab her tea and ditch him, but he seemed to sense her intent when she reached to grab hold of her drink. He looked directly at her, finally, holding out his hand to motion her back. "Yes, yes, I know, just a moment. Trust me, it's worth it."

_No, I most certainly will _not_ trust you._ With a small sip and frown, she mentally observed that her tea was growing cold.

"And... that... should... Yes! Glorious. Now," he grinned broadly and sat back to once again ignore his mesh cup. "Right, right, as we were."

"As we were _what?_ You wanted to tell me something, but so far you've just been screwing around." She fought back the urge to knock the cup off the table out of spite.

"Oh heavens no, this is very important." He looked fondly at the mesh cup. "A wonderful little fire basket."

_Fire basket?_ "Let me guess, you just wanted to show me a magic trick?" _That_ _would explain that purple cloth, anyway. At least learning a magic trick to get dents out of cars would be worth my time. _When had her life gotten so ridiculous?

He was thoughtful for a moment. "A trick of sorts, yes. Magic in a sense, certainly. However, that is a point we have not yet come to. We ought to stick to the script." His smile this time was a little bit sharper. "Though it is a starting point near ours, in any case. Tell me, Leah Clearwater of the Quileute: what magic do you believe?"

It felt as though her stomach and heart had traded places. "How do you know my name?" She swallowed thickly. "Who... who the hell _are_ you, anyway?"

"I am an old enemy, and I am also a friend. You need not fear me. I know your name, my dear, because I have been looking for you for a long time. You are very important." He raised his brows with a commiserating smile. "You are probably one of the most important women in the world."

Leah blinked. "And you are probably _the_ most unhinged person in the world."

He laughed. "_Probably?_ Oh dear, there's no competition!" He folded his hands under his chin. "Now, please answer my question? If I know where to begin, it will make my explanation more concise." He winked. "Yes, I can see you would prefer this conversation to be as concise as is possible."

"Hey, I don't know who you think you are, or _what_ you think you know about us... But we consider that sort of thing to be private, you know?"

He sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll start from the beginning. You see, my goals are-"

"Look buddy, we're not talking at all until you tell me who you are."

"Ah, well my primary vocation is technically referred to as _tracking,_ but we will get into that-"

"I meant your name."

He raised his eyebrows, as though to indicate that _that_ sort of thing had been the very last on his mind. "You may call me James."

"Is that really your name?"

"It depends upon what you mean by that. It's a common name after all, but the fact remains that it _is_ a name. This name does refer to me; therefore, it is safe to presume that it is, in fact, my name."

"Oh my God, forget I asked. Just do your talk, I don't care." Leah pinched the bridge of her nose; not because she had a headache, but because she'd picked up the gesture from her father. Whenever _he_ did it, whomever nearby that was making themselves obnoxious were inclined to stop. _Immediately._ No such luck for her.

James blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Now that we have pleasantries out of the way, I really would prefer if you would stop stalling, dear." She restrained herself from punching him. Barely. "As I was saying, my goals are such that are toward the betterment of all mankind."

"Ah?"

"Ah, indeed. Now tell me," he leaned forward, dark eyes boring into hers. "What do you know about your 'cold ones'?"

Realisation impacted her immediately. _That flowery stench-!_ She leapt up from her seat as though burned, her chair skidding to fall upon the concrete with a squeal and a bang—

"Relax, darling, I'm not here to hurt you. At the end of the day, I am but a humble liaison."

"_Bull-!"_

"Yes, I am a cold one, but I do not cause harm. I wish only to heal."

Her hand froze in its grip on the arm of the steel chair, caught in the net of his words before she could hurl it at his head and start running. _To heal. Is he... like Doctor Cullen?_ She hated them all, but there was a treaty to consider.

"You're talking to the wrong person." Unwillingly, an image of Sam standing protectively beside her swam in her vision. She blinked rapidly against it, aiming her focus instead on the lacy lapels of James' suit. "At least, I'd have to call up some people."

"No, dear. I wish to speak with you specifically. Please, do sit down."

Reluctantly, she did— though with every muscle tensed, ready to phase at the first whiff of trouble. _Just don't forget about the treaty._ _Wait for him to move first._

"Now, you are the daughter of Susan and Harold Clearwater, correct?"

She crossed her arms and said nothing. _Wait for him to move— in both action and speech._

"... I see. Fair enough. Allow me to explain. Leah, I do not know what all you have been told of your histories, or if your elders have taken precautions to ensure your confidence— but I can tell you this much. _You are living a lie."_ A lump seemed to have formed in her throat. _Does he know what I am, too?_ "Let me tell you what I know about your life. I do not know if I will reveal anything new, as it is clear you will not tell me on your own. May I?"

"Go ahead." _This is just as much my job as running the perimeter. I just need to let him keep talking. I need to find out what he knows and report this to Sam._ Just thinking the name hurt, but right now, no matter how she may have felt about him... she really wanted him near. He was her alpha. _Gotta stop thinking like that. I need to do this on my own._

"Your ancestors have had the capability to willfully change their fundamental anatomical structure into another form, said to resemble that of a wolf." He waited for her reaction, and seeing no surprise, continued. "I will refrain from giving you my theories upon the genetic backgrounds, for now. This ability, known commonly among your people as 'phasing', has transferred over the generations into modern day, and is activated in your youths around puberty. The transition only occurs whenever a threatening presence is within thirty miles of your home-"

She managed to hold her surprise in check. He knew more than _they_ did.

"-and is only activated in the males." _Well, so much for that._

"You formed a treaty in 1936 with a group of those you classify as '_the Cold Ones'._ You know little about the Cold Ones in general, apart from what you've gleaned from an attack upon your people many years previous to the treaty. The Cold Ones you accept near your domain are known to you to be docile. Am I correct so far?"

She hesitated, caught off-guard by being asked a direct question. _I don't need you knowing any more than you already do. This is bad enough as it is. _"Yeah, I think you've just about got it covered."

He smiled. "I'm touched, but it's quite _au contraire._ This is merely the beginning of my knowledge." _Aaand back to wanting to punch him in the face._ "As I know it, your Cold Ones go by the family name of 'Cullen'_. _Originally _intruding_ in Hoquaim?" There was an odd edge to the way he had said _intruding_, but she couldn't place the emotion behind it. She said nothing.

"Just wondering," he said, rolling his pitch with a shrug of his shoulders. "It just seemed strange that they would wish to come back so near, so soon. After all, you should realise what it means that they first arrived in 1936." Leah looked away from him; his grin widened into something nearly _feral_. "So strange. Why come back so near, when they have the whole world to uncover? Oh, and the youths! To enroll them into a public high-school, of all places?"

Leah took a small sip of tea, an unobliging attempt to relieve the dryness in her throat. "Aren't you supposed to be _telling_ me things? You have an awful lot of questions. I can't tell how many are rhetorical; are you trying to build up to some big reveal?" _I wonder if all Cold Ones speak strictly in villain monologues. _She managed not to smile at the thought. It would _almost_ be worth paying a visit to the Cullens to find out.

James continued as though she had not spoken, "I also have heard a rumour that they harbour an invalid."

Her jocular imaginings were shattered, her mind's eye flashing to Billy Black. "Don't you dare use that term around me."

"My apologies. Though I am well-traveled, knowing what counts as tactful vernacular has never been my forté." He finally dropped his simpering smile and regarded her fully. "To answer your previous questions: yes, I do have a big reveal, as you say. No, my questions were not rhetorical. No matter how one tries, nor the extent of one's resources, it is incredibly difficult to know everything there is to know." Leah snatched up her tea, trading between sipping and glaring at it, not quite willing to look him in the face. He hesitated for a moment, before giving her a brief, chilly pat on the hand. "Here, now. I will purchase another cup of tea for you, as repayment for taking up so much of your time. We will finally reach the point next we come outdoors. I often forget what the feeling of impatience is like." It wasn't an apology, not technically— but Leah did feel softened, for all her disliking him no less. _Then again,_ she reflected, _it could just be that I really hate cold things. Especially cold tea._

Her hot drink was purchased with little fuss, and they had quickly reseated themselves. It had been a good move on his part. With the paper cup to warm her hands, and the soothing taste of the jasmine, she was nearly able to feel contented in her situation.

"Go ahead," Leah said, allowing a small grin to worm its way onto her face. "You bought yourself a little more of my time." She paused, considering. "A _little,_ keep in mind. Here in Forks, that is our kind of _tactful vernacular _for _make it quick and I won't complain."_

"As you will." He seemed to relax more, himself. His posture melted back into his seat, unlike the cramped, wiry position he had taken earlier. She wondered if it was all for show.

"Your wolf ancestors," he began carefully, gauging her face. "They were immune to the Hayflick Limit." He slowly folded his hands, giving her the most Significant of Looks.

She stared blankly.

"...They were able to live for as long as they wanted. They had biological immortality."

Leah chewed on the inside of her cheek. "First of all, if that was supposed to be the grand reveal, it's a bit _lacking_ for me. Second off, I'll have you know that _every single wolf_ in our tribe either _died_ in battle, or..." She trailed off.

"Committed soft suicide," he finished for her.

She shook her head. "Not- not usually _soft_, no. You have to understand... They had to watch everyone they loved grow old and die. There was nothing they could do to prevent it." She thought about the imprints; that feeling described as love-at-first sight, that unbearable desire to _protect. _She'd been able to feel it for herself, through Sam.

_Focus._ She took another sip of tea, tasting for the right words. "The job- their job is to keep everyone safe." Their _job_. _I need to keep myself separate. I can't let him find out what I am._ "For someone who literally _lives_ for that, you need to understand— I mean, not having any way to help the people you care about..."

"You'd be surprised," he drawled. Leah stiffened, her last ounce of patience sliding down her spine toward the ground. If this kept up, she wouldn't be able to keep herself from phasing.

"You have two minutes to explain yourself properly, or I'm leaving. You've gone above and beyond speaking without _tact_." She was proud when she heard how level her voice was, but surprised to find herself automatically mirroring his speech patterns. _He seems like that kind of person, though, _she reflected._ Someone who only takes people seriously if they remind him of himself. I'll bet anything that's the best way to get through to someone like him._ She'd never been in this sort of strategic position before, and was startled when she realised how _empowering_ it felt— like her anger was hardening into a shield. She felt strong; she felt _important._

He sighed. "Once again, I give you my apologies for not having spoken more clearly. I'm sure you'll be delighted to know this holds mainly with my kind and not your own. We have... certain ways of helping people live to extended age. Do we put enough effort into sharing this gift? No. Absolutely not. Appalling, isn't it?" He offered an unassuming smile. "With this, we've come to the point, once again. I've told you, have I not? I wish to heal."

"Good use of your two minutes," she said rigidly, her mind overcrowding with questions she wouldn't dare to ask. "Go on."

"Thank you, Miss Clearwater. Truly, I meant your tribe no disrespect. In hindsight I realise that the words _living a lie_, and our subsequent conversation must have led you to believe intended to speak ill of your family." He shook his head, giving a soft, self-deprecating laugh, "Forgive me. It is not _they_ who withhold information from you. Only your elders."

She slowly furled her arms upon the table, and dropped her forehead into the cradle of her elbows. At this point, she couldn't take him seriously; she was too exhausted with him to bother being offended. _I give up. Completely stupid, stupidly hopeless, hopelessly tactless._

"I will presume that you did not just faint in slow motion and feel free to continue. Now, genetics! This is the exciting part; I do love my research." She idly wondered if she'd be able to snap his neck if she moved quickly enough. "Now, for my kind, our biology is _complicated,_ to say the least. I'm sure you have your own theories. However, for your kind, it is a simple question of genetics, like any other human."

It was obviously supposed to have been taken as a compliment. _Does he really think I can't tell when he's having his own private joke? Oh yes, us _Wolf People,_ we're so _simple,_ quite like all of those 'normals'. Gag. He's worse than the most pompous-punk of high-schoolers._

She vaguely wondered where she'd tucked away her old black nail polish, half-listening to him as he continued. "This gene that runs through your line is being kept hidden away from the rest of the world— I will not insult you by saying it is squandered," _Except you just did._ "But it certainly isn't fair to the rest of the population. Where is their chance? Why should such a sad fate be decided for them before they were even born?" _Good question, Buddy. Oh wait, sorry, forgot you were tactless. How silly of me._

"Now I, for my part, and even others of my kind! Yes, there are some who are willing to help others become more, shall we say, resilient. This is a complicated process, and we're not entirely pleased with the results." He jabbed sharply at the crown of her head, where it was still resting in her arms. She looked up in surprise. "Listen to me, Leah Clearwater. You carry the gene. I have _studied_ your ancestry. You have this amazing tool of healing, hidden away, and you are not _tied_ to the same blood oaths of your brothers. You can help me."

She couldn't think of anything to say. She could not find the right words.

"Any single one of your brothers could have left! They could have shaken off their ties, I _know_ it can be done. Do none of you _think? _Do none of you- pardon, pardon. I mean to say _they._ Leah, please." He was, indeed, pleading. It was weird to see a _Cold One—_ not to mention one that was probably a _mad scientist—_ giving puppy-dog eyes. "Please, help me help everyone. Show the men of your tribe that you can protect more than they ever could. You can save the world."

It was a pretty speech; she could give him that much. But... "You hate them. You hate all of us, don't you?"

"Every bit as much as you hate me. We both of us have our reasons. I think mine should be clear to you." He paused. "I have reasoning behind my hatred, and reasoning behind this plan. _I do this for the betterment of mankind, _I said. I told you I wanted _to heal the world_. Look at me... Yes, I can see. You don't think I'm anything akin to human, do you? I will admit to you now, I do hold another _personal_ reason for wanting to work toward this. We both hold our own ties, Leah Clearwater. I ask you to set some aside so you may keep a level head for this project. I would not ask this of you without being able to do so myself."

A heavy silence fell in the air; the café behind them had closed by this point; even the wind had died down. It was as though the whole world had gone still. Her blasé attitude fell way from her, unable to keep herself masked away from the implications of his speech. Her mind spun as sharply as fanblades.

_What if I refuse?_ She couldn't ask. She already knew the answer. The gleam in his eye was needle-crisp. No matter what he claimed, he was a Cold One; _violent. Steadfast._ If he couldn't get what he wanted from her, he'd take _another_ girl from the tribe. Someone who hadn't gotten that fantastical twist of the genetic lottery— the ability to defend oneself from his kind.

Her first and final duty was to protect her tribe. "Okay. I'll help you."

His smile to her was so full of hope and affection, Leah thought it reminiscent of a man who had just set eyes on his imprint. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, for my gesture. My thanks." He dug through his purse for a moment, before procuring a small set of sewing scissors. "As I have told you, working with the genetics of my kind has its flaw." He clipped a small lock of his hair, creating a remarkable contrast from his otherwise perfectly straight and even cut. "We are full of life," he said. "Nigh limitless, quickening energy." He dropped his hair into the mesh cup. She stared at it as he paused to dig in his purse, almost missing the dull, grating flick of a match. "Each part of our body stores more life than you can imagine. A most fast-acting fuel." He dropped the match into the basket, whipping his hand away with lightning speed.

It was almost beautiful how, as the match fell upon the hair, flame engulfed it for the barest fraction of a second. Nothing but a whooshing flicker in her vision. All that remained was white, dense ash; perfectly in the shape that the lock of hair had been in. As though following her line of thought, he gently tapped his little finger on top of the form. It crumbled into a fine powder.

"This is how _we_ usually die." He looked at her. "This is my gratitude. You have my trust. Welcome to the fold, Leah Clearwater." He was smiling.

She managed not to shudder. _Signed and sealed._


	13. Hypothermia & Hyperthermia

**Disclaimer: Is love a fancy or a feeling? No, it is immortal as immaculate truth— For example, no matter how much I care about this story, I'll _never_ own Twilight. My castle is firmly planted in Smeyer's sandbox, folks.**

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><p><strong>Chapter<strong>** Thirteen: Hypothermia & Hyperthermia**

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><p><strong>The Early Ones<strong>

**A Historical Memoir**

_It was the worst day of my life. I never would have thought that I would eventually have the strength to speak of it. I wouldn't have been able to break out of my silence, if not for my husband. I kept it from even him for the longest time. Now that I am older and know the significance, it brings me pride where before I could only feel shame._

"_So what _was_ the first Burning Day like, Kate?"_

_The first Burning Day was the longest by far, and in many ways. When the two of us were together, I remember how we used to talk— we thought that it would never end. To this day, even though I managed to escape unscathed, I've never been able to find out how it ended for her. It still terrifies me to think about; I wish I knew, more than anything else. Even though I know it's impossible, I feel like I owe her that much— to find the rest of her story and share it with the world. Even if she hadn't been the heroine I've learned her to be, she was my only friend in a long spell of darkness. She's been my inspiration to try to give back— at least, in some small measure— what I've received. For now, what I recall is going to have to be enough._

_However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Before meeting her, I met _him._ I had been stopping in a town near Seattle in order to dig around a few shops— just for small things; there were a few advertising posters I wanted to collect for my portfolio. In and out, it shouldn't have taken above a few hours, and I'd still have time to make it to a concert later that evening. As it was, I was only due to remain in Seattle for another week before moving on, down to California._

_He spotted me as I was leaving the last small music shop of my outing. I thought at the time— though without realising how justified my suspicion was— that he must have known I would be there. While he had his own talents, there was little excuse for my not perceiving immediately what he really was. The only explanation I can think of was my youth, and my blissful inability to pay attention to anything more than an inch beyond my nose, or quieter than the lowest tones of a blues singer. _

_When some amount of sense wormed its way into my thoughts, I reacted with innocent surprise. I asked him what he was doing there. There was only supposed to be a small family around this area; was he of them? He bluntly answered, no, he was not— and then he was a blur of motion. I had tried to defend myself; I was terrified— but he was far too quick, and I was rendered unconscious._

_The next thing I knew, I was waking up alone in a dingy room, coated neck-to-back in my own blood. As I'm sure you can imagine, I was incredibly nettled. I was in my favourite dress for the show, after all, and he had absolutely ruined it. I was too distressed by this inconsequential detail to give a great deal of thought to other, more pressing matters... such as, for example, that I must have been dragged through the woods for my dress to reach such a state to begin with. My mind was firing so strangely. Even though I truly did fully comprehend what had happened to me, it seemed like the work-space in my brain had re-formatted itself; like a postal system, or a computer. I had so many layers to think in. Odd how I should use the advantages of my mental state to be upset over clothing. Odd, yes, and maybe stupid— but it gave way for leverage in my focus, and I could keep the small stream of rising panic at bay. I recognised that, and with gratitude._

_With my mind's bearings fully under my control, I examined the other parts of this new life, of this new me. I felt at the time, and still do, that it was the greatest fortune for me to be able to be alone during such a period. It's a once in a lifetime thing, you know. The very thought of sharing it with _him_ would have been an insult to my sensibilities._

_Above all else, it took the longest to get used to my new eyes. I had expected everything to look too sharp, to the point of being overly detailed, cluttered, and claustrophobic. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was like watching a fast-paced event in slow-motion; every detail lovingly constructed before me in fluid resonance, __colours__ brightly flaring their true name to me, where I'd not have otherwise noticed them. __Mould__ became a symphony of organic strings; peeling wallpaper shone in an organised cacophony of luminescence, skimming upward and outward through a slight film of layered dust and particles. On the paper itself, the original faded pattern still glanced back soft waves woven in the shattered light— which itself was pristine in its form. I could unravel each wave of colour._

_Coupled with that moment of stunned realisation, I became terribly aware that I was unable to cry_.

_Beyond that, I slowly became used to the scents— each mote belaying its own story— and grew used to the new fluid feeling of my own movements— every motion like water sliding off a balsam leaf. Overall, my __familiarisation__ was likely completed in a record fleeting time. Even enclosed in the layered sheets of my mind, I grew nervous and distracted— feelings that began to layer in of themselves. I knew he may return at any time, and I knew what I was going to have to do. _

_Keeping alert and allowing my senses to guide me— anxiety notwithstanding, the new levels of mind-space were sufficient to keep me from becoming _environmentally_ side-tracked— I started going about the house, searching. I knew that he was up to no good, beyond his inexcusable display of actions toward me. Without a shadow of a doubt, at least, it would be something illegal— and probably terribly dangerous. Though young, I had a good heart, and I had always considered myself a good __citisen.__ No matter what it may have cost me down the line, I promised myself that I'd find out exactly what he was planning, and why._

_Unfortunately, I succeeded._

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><p><strong>Bella<strong>

**October 4th, 05:40 AM**

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><p>Jacob folded his phone shut with a snap. "He's on his way." There was an unsteady twitch in his facial muscles; I imagined a grinding like tectonic plates— he was either going to scream or laugh. The smog of unease spread to the other boys; each took their turn of wincing, shrugging off their chills, or hanging their heads. I wondered what it would be like, to be in a pack like them. <em>Is this like waiting for your boss to show up angry at a meeting, or is this like waiting for a parent to come home to a trashed house after a party?<em> Though I wouldn't know the feeling either way, I definitely felt like a "friend who was just kind of nearby when this happened and really should be leaving now, thank you". _That's not really true though, is it? Whatever he's going to be upset about, some of it is going to be about me._ My stomach churned.

"Well, at least something good's happening today," said Quil, kicking absently at a few fallen autumn leaves. To my surprise, the boys all showed their agreement; a few firm nods here; there a cheeky applaud and stretch; everyone all grins and teeth.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. A small laugh finally burbled out with a sigh. "If anyone can untangle this, it's Sam. Glad I don't have to do it."

"Me too," Embry let out a guffaw, "when you get into a knot, you rip through it with a knife."

"I wouldn't have been complaining, if he had. Something to be said for efficiency. Ugh, Sam's gonna be a _nightmare."_

At this point, I couldn't help but interject. "Do you think..." I cleared my throat self-consciously as they all turned to look at me. "I mean, am I going to be in trouble? Is there something I need to do?"

"What, you've been worried?" Paul rolled his eyes. "Chill. You didn't do anything wrong, that was all Jake's fault."

"Hey!"

Embry offered a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, don't worry so much Bella. Worst to worst, Sam'll just make you go home."

"Nah, you mean Seth and Leah's place," Jared said with a grin. "Of course, I guess you can worry about Seth being worried. Have yourselves a party."

"No, a party's definitely _not_ a good idea," Embry snorted, before throwing me a more solemn and appraising look. "Really though. I mean, you look pretty wiped out. Didja sleep at all?"

"Yeah Jake, why didn't you take her home? Not very gentlemanly of you, keeping her up all night like this!"

"_'Where is your boy tonight, I hope he is a gentleman!'"_

A handful of laughs and groans.

"Oh my _Gawsh_, Quil, shut up!" A handful of fluttering slaps, a playful shove onto the ground.

"Y'all got no taste. Bella! Sweet lady, come on!" He jumped up and took my hand. "Let's dance away from these dogs!"

He was quickly pulled away by a couple of the guys. "Sorry, forgot I had an appointment!"

A brawl ensued, increasing in volume and ferocity in equal measure with the more lighthearted they became.

"Exhausting," I said quietly to the fray. "You're all exhausting." And then I cracked up laughing, because I really _was_ overtired, everything was completely terrible, and this felt like the most fun I'd had in ages.

* * *

><p><strong>Seth<strong>

* * *

><p>He was aware, at least, that he'd been in a half-lucid state for a while now, though he had no way of telling exactly how long it had been. Light and darkness were swimming shapes, and he sometimes had trouble realising when his eyes were open. Smells he wouldn't normally have noticed drifted and twined about the room; the way they seemed to shove and clamour to invade his nostrils made them like solid objects. It was smothering; it turned his stomach even more.<p>

It had come over him in his sleep, but wouldn't quite let him stay there. He turned over again, unable to get comfortable. Finally, there was a small break; a strange shudder rolled down his back, disconcerting, but bringing him into focus. His protesting eyes were still gummed over and screwing shut against the light streaming from the kitchen, and he could feel his hair sticking to his forehead in a feverish sweat.

"Bella?" he tried to call, but his voice came out in a croak. This fever was bad news. Real bad. Worse than any other illness he'd ever had— but that wasn't what was gripping at him. There was a thick feeling dragging at his lungs. Though it had been bad enough before, this change made things even worse. Now, each gulp of air was like trying to breathe in a haze of chemicals— everything tasted and smelled _wrong._

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><p><strong>Sam<strong>

* * *

><p>He urged his legs to move faster, and they readily obeyed; tendons stretching easily beyond his usual comfort level, muscles firing madly with new purpose. It was like his body could tell, on the most fundamental level, that he needed each and every cell in his body fighting for its life. There was something wrong tonight, he could feel it. Something beyond the chilling knowledge that Leah— one of his pack members, someone he was meant to <em>keep safe<em>— had been stolen away. (There was only one creature on earth that could manage such a thing, and whatever else happened, he would have their blood for this— whether the _Cold Ones_ had any or not.)

The situation with Leah was bad enough, but he didn't know how the Cullens could be responsible for _this._ It felt to him like a strange, vibrating _flatness_ in the air, in what little sense he could make of it. He had noticed the change not very long after he left the house. It was almost like a smell hanging in the air, but it definitely wasn't something that could come from a fire.

As soon as that feeling set in, his body had reacted. It was like a shock of adrenaline had been shot into his system— beyond what was already there. Every muscle in his body screamed for movement, seeming to hype themselves into overdrive. It was almost as though the _wolf_ in him had actually _understood._

He only wished _he_ knew what it was. It was exhilarating. It was the worst feeling in the world. It was like a second hand counting down heartbeats, with his blood racing to meet the end.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>Just as suddenly as their brawl had worked itself into a fever-pitch, the boys halted in their movements like stone statues. Without noticing, I held my breath— the sudden lack of motion from them was as disturbing as hearing a cry abruptly cutting off.<p>

One of the boys finally began to speak, "What was that?"

"What do you-" _mean,_ I tried to say, before I _felt_ it. A feeling like the entire earth locking into place, the air churning sickly, the smell of ozone filling up my lungs and—

"_Bella!"_

— being set on _fire. _Like a piece of earth tearing itself away from the planet, shuddering and ripping down to my bones. The pain of it was so _sharp_; sparks of light flashed before my eyes.

I think I may have collapsed.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

**October 4th, 05:50 AM**

* * *

><p>Even while the earth swam in my vision, it took surprisingly little focus to keep myself steady. Whatever that... <em>wave<em> of stuff was, my body must have conditioned itself to it, after all those long months of exposure. Just as she had thought it would. I had to give her credit, after all— she really _did_ know what she was talking about.

On more than one point, as it turned out. I stared at the dilapidated house in front of me, my disbelief melting into resignation. The floorboards of the deck were rotting down into the gravel, parched English ivy and crabgrass climbing up into the busted front door. The rooftop looked like it had caved in _years_ ago. As the ringing faded from my ears, I could hear a steady _drip, drip, drip— _the remnants of rainwater splashing into what, I knew, must have been the sitting room.

_I'll be damned. That dirty, lying hypocrite._ I shook my head to myself, swallowing thickly. _So that means it really _wasn't_ stable all the while. If that's the case... Will she be okay?_ There wasn't any way I could find out. She just _had_ to be safe. There wasn't anything else I could do for her now. I had to keep pushing forward.

_Almost there._ _Watch out, James._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Those lyrics belong to Fall Out Boy, from the song "Grand Theft Autumn". Sorry, this fic is taking place in 2005— and that was just too good to pass up.**


	14. Many Lives 49 MP

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, except for the wild stuff you don't like. Those bits are mine. Not going to make money off either, though.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter<strong>** Fourteen: Many Lives → 49 MP**

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>It was cold. It was so, so terribly cold.<p>

* * *

><p>It was like floating in darkness, but I could still feel the crushing sensation of my body <em>against<em> the coldness_,_ in the ground, in the air— the air was a solid thing, the way it froze. Trapped in that point of sleeping where it's hard to wake up, like having a fever. You shouldn't be able to feel chill in your bones that intensely; not when you can't wake up. Every sensation should be numbed over, and I should be adrift from the world, but I could feel everything. My limbs didn't want to move. Everything was texture. Even with all this to disturb me, I couldn't find any flutters of panic; maybe I was too far disjointed from myself for that. All I could feel, all I could experience, was the cold.

* * *

><p>Voices, burbling and babbling up around me like a stream.<p>

"Found you!" _Who_ _is_ _that?_ They sounded familiar, somehow.

"Who is— wait, she can't be-!"

"I'll explain later! Just go, I'll take care of this. Please."

_It's_ _so_ _cold._

* * *

><p>Other voices, pitched in panic.<p>

"Bella!"

_Oh._ _It's_ _warmer._

"What the hell _was_ that shit?"

"The hell should I know, Jake? This isn't, I mean-"

* * *

><p>Then they were gone, and I was back into the cold. So, so very <em>cold<em>.

* * *

><p><em>I'm<em> _scared._

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>We pulled up to a house in the middle of the woods, which really, was appropriately cliché for his villain role. It could barely concern me at this point. To be honest, it was a relief just to be motionless, after his driving. He was a <em>nightmare.<em>I like speeding as much as the next lady, but I swear, I was _this_ _close_ to phasing in the car out of fright.

The interior of the cottage had the atmosphere of an old lady's home, all wooden furniture, brocade, and doilies. He led me into the sitting room, and I stopped short— someone was already there. She had auburn hair, glinting red eyes, and that icy pale skin that sent chills up my spine. She was one of _them_.

"Huh, kidnapping again? Aren't I good enough for you?" She was smiling, her voice razor sharp. I gaped.

He smiled benignly. "You already know how this works into my plans, my dear little sneak."

"Die in a fire," she replied brightly, gesturing to an unlit fireplace. _I'll bet he never lights it; probably doesn't even have a stove._ I then noticed, with a slight chill, that the woman was giving me a measuring stare.

"My name is Kate. If you're not going to kill him, please run out of here."

"Leah. And sorry," I mumbled.

Her gaze melted into a pitying look, and she let out an exaggerated sigh. "A girl can dream."

"If we're quite done discussing my death, we have other matters of import. Tea for the lady?" he asked me. I shook my head, unwilling to drink anything he gave me without seeing the preparation of it for myself. I remained standing stiffly a moment longer, before decisively sitting next to Kate. She couldn't be too bad if she hated James, at least.

If he noticed the significance in any of this, he didn't show it. He ambled over to an odd, clunky computer on an ancient writing desk, and quickly typed something out. "There, we should be all set here for now. Miss Clearwater, I'll ask for a small blood sample to take down to my lab, and then I'll leave you to your evening. Miss Kate can show you to the spare bedroom."

_What?_ "I'm not staying the night," I said, the words catching in my clenched teeth, losing their force.

He turned back toward his computer desk with a sigh, rifling idly through a drawer. "Miss Clearwater, we are researching the single most difficult scientific problem of all time. This will take a few months, at the very least. I suggest you get comfortable and settle in."

I was immediately up and running. I couldn't fight him even in wolf-form, not alone, but maybe if I got one solid hit on him, it'd buy time and—

He whirled around and caught my fist right before it could sink into the back of his neck. He pulled a small object out of nowhere and jabbed the side of my wrist— I saw a few drops of blood glide up into a plastic container. "Ah, thank you. This will be sufficient." He pulled it, capped it, and took a small circular bandage out of the obliging medical kit I hadn't seen, swiping it over the puncture. The bandage had a smiley face on it. "You pack a good punch, by the by. Well done." Still smiling, he walked off with his blood sample, disappearing through a door, down a staircase. I stared after him for several long minutes, then sank dejectedly back into the sofa.

_I am such an idiot._ The look Kate was giving me made me think she agreed. I brought my knees up to my chest, and stared into the empty fireplace. "Hey," I mumbled.

She placed an icy hand on my shoulder. Deciding to take what I could with the situation, I cleared my throat and began, "He said you know what his plan is. I don't _actually_ know what's going on." _Such an idiot._ "I need to- I need to know what it is. Badly. Please."

"He'll hear everything I tell you, but he's not going to stop me," she said, startling me by throwing her arms around my shoulders in a hug. "I'm going to go ahead and wait until he's out of the house though." I nodded my assent; she continued: "It's a long story, but you can feel free to interrupt. Want me to make you tea while we wait? He wasn't actually going to poison it, you know, and nor will I."

"Yes." I paused. "And thanks."

Upon her return she handed me the tea, and stood before me hesitantly as a took my first sip. I lowered my teacup with some trepidation. She paused a beat before asking, "What all do you know? That he knows too, I mean."

I told her.

She nodded. "Alright, have your tea and grab a book. He'll be out of the house in the next hour, I think."

* * *

><p><strong>The Early Ones: A Historical Memoir<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

* * *

><p>That night, I told her everything there was to tell. By that point, I'd only been there a week, but even on my first day, I'd read everything in the house I could. Even without the raw plans (they were stored in his computers) I was informed enough— but it was difficult to convey every detail necessary without telling her something she shouldn't know. It was a fine line, but I was a musical journalist; I could dance the dance.<p>

"First of all, he isn't going to hurt us, but he's taken our freedom away. Otherwise, it'd be too much a risk to himself. We're stuck here until he finishes his project."

"What does that involve?"

"He's been honest about the genetic research, for one. The thing is, he's mucking in things that ought not be mucked about in, and also has been doing... very unseemly things."

"Like abducting women, I'm guessing."

"Well, yes. It doesn't look like it's new for him. I read some past journal entries, and when I got to the genetic testing section— well, combined with the kidnap of some girls, it turned into a very ugly picture. Luckily, I don't think he's quite so bad as he used to be."

I saw the exact moment the shoe dropped. She stared at me wide-eyed. "You mean he-"

"Very, very _bad_ genetic research," I said.

"... Oh my God. Are you sure he's not still-"

"Completely. It ended poorly for him, thank the stars. One of the girls got away, and later came back with her husband and some law officials and— well. He's not in a very good legal place, which helps us out."

Leah fumbled around with the hem of a throw pillow. "Seriously though. Can we kill him?"

I rubbed small circles on her back, hoping to soothe. "We can certainly try, but there might be easier ways." I paused, deliberating. "Can you keep a secret?"

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>I awoke to warmth, coupled with an almost overpowering smell of ozone. There were many indistinct voices talking over one another, but when I opened my eyes, they halted. I was alone in the room, but...<p>

"_What?"_

"Glad to see you're okay, Bella."

We were in some sort of large, sturdy tent; I could hear the winter howling away outside, trying to dig into the sides of the structure. It really was remarkably warm, almost hot; I was on some sort of cot, with thick quilts thrown overtop me. My hair was sticking to my face, like I'd been sleeping through a fever. There was someone sitting in the folding chair next to me, her expression unreadable.

She looked exactly like me.

"Who are you?" My voice came out in a croak; my throat felt raw. She ignored my question for the moment, urging me to sit up and take a sip of a hot, minty beverage; the soreness dissipated immediately. When she had touched me, I jumped slightly, as though I expected to wake up from a dream. I couldn't stop staring at her face. She was _exactly_ like me— the same flat brown hair, the same notch in her eyebrow, the same birthmark on her temple, the same lips, the same eyes, the same small scar on the bottom of her chin from running and slipping in the rain when I was eight— "Have I gone insane?"

She frowned. "That's a very impolite word for it, you know. And no, you haven't." Her voice was just like mine, I think, though it sounded strange to hear it coming from someone else.

She set a small bowl of soup in my lap; it seared hot even through the quilts, and I almost knocked it over in surprise. As though she hadn't noticed, she continued speaking, her tone dull, as though it were a speech often repeated: "Please don't interrupt, save any questions for when I'm done. Your name is Isabella Marie Swan, you were born in September, your favourite colour is brown, you think Mom's gold rings are gaudy and hideous, you think Phil smells weird, and you think Dad's diner friends are obnoxious. You once wet your bed when you were fourteen and you cleaned it up without telling Mom."

I stared wide-eyed in horror. She kept going, "You get a lot of weird, sometimes scary dreams about being yourself, only living in different places. Sometimes you feel like yourself, other times you feel like you're in an entire other life. Sometimes you remember much upon waking, sometimes you don't. Sometimes when you're awake, you feel like there's another version of yourself talking to you, without feeling like the words were your own idea. You've told yourself that whatever your brain tries to tell you, it doesn't say what you are like as a person, so you go on your own way."

She smiled at me now, almost proudly. "As you ought. I know you are worried right now, stop digging your nails into your palms, why do you think I gave you the soup?" I blinked, unclenched my fists, and took an experimental mouthful of soup; it was, thankfully, cooler than the bowl.

Nodding her approval, she continued speaking. "You're reasonably clever, so you understand the implications of all this. These other _you's_ from other places are just that. And, for whatever reason, you can live through them when you're asleep, and they you. Understand so far?"

I nodded blankly. Her words raced through my mind, crashing through every model I had of the world like it was tissue paper.

"Excellent. Now normally it's a _super awful terribly bad idea _to just tell you all this, without letting you figure it out on your own. It's not very good for your mental health, and it's better to let you figure out where all your mental partitions are on your own. That way, it's easier for you to tell what's a '_normal_' dream, and what's a '_normal_' mental voice."

She paused, straightening her back slightly. "Unfortunately, I messed up a bit, _very unintentionally, mind you, I am not stupid,_ so I decided to do a bit of damage repair. Love thyself and all that jazz."

Setting the spoon back into the bowl, I asked, "Even if that's right... why are there two of us? Shouldn't I be, uh, talking to your mind right now? And..." I paused, trying to find the right words. "I didn't fall asleep normally, something happened," I crinkled my brow, "something really bad, I don't know, it just hurt-"

"I know, and I took full advantage of that so we could both be here and speak normally." She grinned. "We're both quite the clever bitch, after all." I felt my cheeks flush hotly, surprised to hear the swear in my own voice. "Besides, you and I get special bonus abilities!"

I blinked; that sounded like something from a video game. Before that thought could melt through, she continued, "We can move ourselves physically to wherever or _when_ever we want. Wouldn't recommend the latter, though; you can really mess stuff up if you're not careful. It's incredibly difficult though, and downright impossible to do unintentionally, thank goodness."

I stared at her blankly. "You're saying that I can teleport. And time-travel."

"Obviously."

"... I'm caught between _why didn't I know this sooner, _and _why are you telling me this at all?"_

"As a dashing gentleman once told me, _'I'm breaking all the rules, now.'_"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Chapter title from an Owen Pallett song. Also, please don't kill me. I like being alive.**


	15. Respite and Displacement

****Disclaimer: It may not look like Twilight much anymore, but I still promise that Twilight ain't mine.****

**A/N: Welcome to book two, and thank you to those who were able to wait out my hiatus. There's going to be a little more skipping around from here on out— you don't need to hear **_**every single**_** conversation that occurs, or this fic will end up being dull and needlessly long. Without further ado,**

* * *

><p><strong>Fresh Rain<strong>

**Book Two: Fractured Life**

* * *

><p>"<em>大キライ 手を握られたりするの<em>_  
><em>_キライ 放っておかれるのも__  
><em>_キライ めんどくさいって 自分でも思う"_

"

_**I really hate having my hand held  
>I hate being left alone too<br>I hate it; Even I think I'm tiresome"**_

—Shikao Suga,_ "Aitai"_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Respite and Displacement<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Charlie<strong>

* * *

><p>The spill of flashing lights and the flood of sirens was never something you acclimated to, twenty years in the service be damned. Charlie, on his part, still got that nervous stiffness in his spine, that feeling of <em>"Did I do something wrong, Officer?"<em>

In Arianna's case, however...

"Alright, boys. We've got two sets of county detectives on separate hotspots: Charlie's house for one, and Dave has gone with Julie to meet with Billy Black to arrange a search strategy. Harry, you said they'd be open to it?"

He stiffened slightly. "To some degree, but it will be enough."

"Right. The evac for this area has already been done, mainly by the volunteer fire department. I've got a list of areas for us to search in this perimeter, but they don't want us too close to the edge of the fire-"

"What good is that going to do?" Charlie demanded. "Any trace of evidence will be right in the heart of it, and our guy probably sped off an hour ago." He knew Harry would rather work effectively than feed false hopes. The two men exchanged a glance; Harry nodded slightly.

Arianna clenched and unclenched her jaw. "The fires sprang up too suddenly for anyone to get here in time to do a full evac, did you know? Luckily, all the nearest families to the center heard the crash early enough to get out in time and raise the alarm."

"The crash?" Charlie asked.

She nodded. "We even had an eyewitness account, though he didn't come forward immediately— we promised young Mike Newton that we wouldn't tell his mother he was drinking her wine-coolers on the back porch." She smiled. "But apparently, a _helicopter_ crashed, and that's what caused the fires."

"A _what?_ Did anyone contact Air Traffic Control? Wouldn't they have-"

"They have no idea what it was."

"... Are you sure it was _just_ wine-coolers he was having?"

"Positive, and only two at that. A boy his size, it's not enough to question his account. The boy was pretty shaken; I highly doubt he was lying."

Charlie put a hand over his face; his voice came out muffled. "Well no wonder they didn't burn out quickly; the fuel tank..." He looked up quickly. "Wait, but that means whatever caused the fires, it probably doesn't even have anything to _do_ with-"

"No, she's right," Harry interrupted. "It's too much at once, and it's all too suspicious. Leah could've seen something she shouldn't have-" his voice gave out and his nostrils widened.

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get moving. There's no time to waste. What areas are we looking at first, Arianna?"

"State Troopers will be arriving shortly, but here's the current plan..."

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>She'd tried to explain to me what had happened, but she didn't get very far. The shock might have caused me to faint again, or it could have just been that I was exhausted.<p>

I awoke for the third time on that cot, to my own self sitting next to me— something I would never, ever get used to. For the second time, I apologised for passing out, and for the second time, she admonished me.

"You're exhausted: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Take your rest where you can. It's safe here, and we all needed a break, anyway." After the first rush of her _comrades_ coming in to visit me, she asked them to avoid my little blocked-off section of the tent. I hadn't even had to ask her. (Which made sense, for reasons that _would give me an eternal headache.)_

_It's just too weird to hang around fictional characters,_ is what I told myself. The reality, I knew, was my being overwhelmed from having so many strangers _worrying_ about me. Nevermind that she apparently _created an imaginary world in order to play out various scenarios starring herself and fictional people she liked—_ Nope! I was worried about _socialising._

I was not going to be cut out for this— whatever _this_ was.

She smiled at me, as I grumpily mulled this over. "_'Doesn't she look tired?_'" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"Apologies, I was quoting an episode of a television show. What year did you say it was, for you?"

"Two-thousand five."

"Huh," she grinned. "My world is slightly off from yours; we reached that episode a year earlier."

Another thing I wouldn't get used to— her being a '_slightly different version' of myself._ When I asked her age, she stuck her tongue out at me, abusing me as rude. _'Slightly'. Right._

She gave me another bowl of soup, and sat down with her own. We ate in silence for several minutes, before the wheels turning in my mind crashed and erupted in speech. "Even if I'm doing decently at wrapping my head around this, I'm not sure where to go from here. I just don't know what to _do._"

"It's not complicated; just do what you want. You're not exactly on a time limit. If you stick around long enough, I would be able to train you up— I could teach you how to take a _proper_ vacation whenever you like. No more worrying about having time to think!" She grinned.

I glowered. "For the last time, as soon as I stop feeling like death warmed over, I'm going home. People will be worrying about me, people- people could be _dying."_

She looked down guiltily at that. "Like I told you, they shouldn't even notice you're gone. Please take your time, I need to do _something_ to make this up to you."

"No, you don't. We're the same person, right? It's my fault, too."

"Nature versus nurture! The _disposition_ of a shared personality doesn't mean-"

"Nope. We're not doing this again." I smiled weakly.

She nodded, putting aside her food and tucking her knees under her chin. "... Tell me more about Reneé."

Ah. Being raised in slightly different worlds could mean very, very different lives. This Bella, she said _she'd_ basically raised Mom, which I thought was the strangest thing in the world. She even called her by name, as I did with Charlie— which I was feeling more and more guilty about.

"My version of Mom gave me my first bike... and completely forgot to add on training wheels. I didn't learn to ride until I visited Grandma that summer." She laughed, and encouraged, I continued. "But until then, that spring was basically ballet all over again— Gran flipped out when she saw me in June, I was totally covered in bruises."

"You think she'd be used to it! Hey, did you get the swimming lessons, too?"

"I think you mean the 'drowning lessons'. Honestly, if Mom wasn't such an airhead, I'd think she was _trying_ to kill me." We laughed together, and the tension was gone.

* * *

><p>After we ate, The Other Bella announced that nothing would go further until I had 'recovered', as she put it. It was true that I wasn't in the best of shape. All the fainting aside, I hadn't gotten much <em>actual<em> rest, and the additional strain of my forest-wanderings hadn't helped matters. That being as it may, I put my foot down when she insisted I stay for a _week._

"Or maybe five days, we'll see." She slapped a visor over over her face that magnified her eyes absurdly, and pulled up a small work table.

"I can't sit around here for a week! You heard me explain everything that was going on back home, didn't you? Or was _that_ a dream, too?"

She didn't look up as she replied, engrossed with cleaning what looked like the inner-mechanism of a pocket-watch. "What part of '_hey, time travel!' _didn't make it past that pretty little skull of yours? Relax. We'll get you home when you need to be home. Hell, I can get you home three days ago if you want, though I don't recommend it."

"Because I'd tear a hole in the fabric of time and space?" I guessed, successfully distracted.

"Actually, I meant to say it's just a pain. Really confusing all around." There was a pause as she furrowed her brow at the tiny gearworks. She switched out her small brass-bristle brush for what looked like a clear pen, or maybe a wonky syringe. She tapped it at the gears silently, then let out a huff. "Oil. Small phial, second shelf."

I rose stiffly, and walked slowly over to the cabinet next across the room. Worried that she only set the task to prove her point on my weakness, I attempted (and failed) to walk more smoothly back to her. She made no comment even as I lowered myself carefully back into my cot.

"But, yeah." She made a noise of approval as her oiler started working. "You might destroy your universe. Wouldn't know if you had, though, would you?"

Slightly, just barely, I was starting to get used to her blasé way of talking. "I'll try to avoid messing around with time, then."

It took me _that long_ to realise.

"Actually, isn't flitting around to different universes _dangerous?_ Like, what if this destroyed something? What happens next time I try? How would I even know what to look for? What if you try to send me home and get the wrong one?"

"Girly, I practically _made_ the universe we're sitting in. I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

I stared at my hands. "... Yeah, okay, whatever. Pretty boys escorting me to class, kidnap, werewolves, time-travel, world jumping, playing God. Fine. Be that way, life. You win. I'm never going to be surprised by anything ever again."

She snickered derisively. "Pretty boys? Really? That's on your list? We're _Bella Swan_ for crying out loud."

I sniffed. "I don't know about you, but I'll have you know I was named after Bela Lugosi. Any fanciful notions of Pretty Swans-"

"Ah, yes, Isabella Lugosi, of course. Who played Countess Dracula."

"Gran insisted on the full name. I promise, it was definitely for Bela Lugosi. Mom and Dad's first date was a double-feature film, I think."

"Fair enough, but where that's the case? God, you're in for a world of irony."

I groaned. "What, are there going to be vampires fighting my werewolves?" She said nothing; I tried not to think too much about it. "...How can you know things I don't know about my life, anyway? Especially if you were raised differently? How does that work? Who are you, exactly?"

"I am you, except not that at all." She smiled up at my glare. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." She picked up a few tiny screws, starting to put the pocket-watch back together. "While you're here, I'm teaching you how to do all the fancy things. I wouldn't make you stay that long otherwise."

"... Again, what if I accidentally destroy the universe?"

She shrugged, which was not reassuring in the slightest.

"It just feels, I don't know... like it can't be learned, like I should know all this already, or else I can't do it at all."

"You can," she said. "You already move around worlds when you sleep, right? And you already figured out displacement, too. You just don't know how to do it on purpose is all."

I frowned. "Displacement?"

"Lesson one, actually! If you try to move anything around at all, if you try to take something from a world you're visiting, or even if you try to be a bit more physically solid there, then something has to get moved to the opposite world. Make sense? Think of it in terms of conservation of energy."

I'd already figured out what dream this was from, when I saw her comrades. I furrowed my brow in thought. "What did I try to bring here?"

"Nothing, I think you were trying to take yourself back, and instead grabbed a few pounds of force. How's the ankle?"

I tried to absorb this. "I, but-" My leg was a little sore, but that was just from all my running in the woods, wasn't it?

She lifted up a pant leg. "See this? I should have a bit more bruising around my calf. You must have accidentally taken some of it."

"But it-" I frowned. "It already _happened_ and-"

"Just like space, time happens all at once. Just kind of hanging around, you know, existing. So you accidentally reached back and grabbed some of the force that landed on my calf, as noted. It's just like moving and grasping. A basic movement. Totally normal."

"_Normal?! _But _force_ isn't a physical, moveable thing with _matter_ and," I put my face in my hands. "_What? _Why? That doesn't make _sense!" _I tugged at my hair. "And- and Many Worlds Theory doesn't even _work_ like this!" I'd seen enough sci-fi television and read enough of Dad's books to know _that_ much.

"You can't just look at evidence and say it's wrong because you didn't _know_ the thing worked that way."

I stopped fussing and reconsidered. Slowly, I loosened my grip on my hair, and slumped into my seat. "Right. Sorry. No more surprises. Okay." I felt a headache coming on. "So... that's displacement?"

"Yep! Also, sorry about your watch. I'm pretty sure that's the only thing you sent here, at least."

"... What?"

She handed back what I thought was a pocket-watch, and was shocked to see my own wristwatch. "Sorry, I think the bands got melted in the fire, but the face stayed intact. I cleaned out the gears for you."

I stared at it, watching it ticking away, showing a completely irrelevant time.

"Displacement!" She said jovially.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>"Well, see..." Kate made an vague gesture. "Damn. I feel like there's not enough tea in the house for this."<p>

Leah rubbed her eyes wearily. "Please don't talk around it, whatever it is. I've had enough of that for the day."

The Cold One nodded her head. She reclined stiffly into the sofa. The awkward movements made Leah think of trying to smile at a camera for too long, until her facial muscles were twitching. It made her wonder, not for the first time, if The Cold Ones were born, or created like in legend.

Kate spoke. "You know what we are, which helps."

"Yes. A bloodsucker." She may have liked her in comparison to James, and she may have appreciated her help— but temporary forgiveness for her nature was not absolution.

"Well. Yes. Selectively, sporadically."

Leah snorted. "Look, I've heard all that before. Spare me."

"Really! It's mostly idle diatribe, though founded in truth."

"Please."

"Very well. Hmm..." Kate reached out toward Leah, who did not flinch. She quickly stole away her cup of tea, downing it in one gulp. "Yup! Still tasty."

"You... you're just gonna throw it up later or something."

Kate rolled her eyes, her features scored with scorn. "It's as a good place to start as any. Leah. What do you know about us _really?"_

"I..." What _did_ she know? "You _eat_ people— that is, you drink their blood. Your eyes are blood coloured because of it—"

"First point. Putting it simply, our eyes are the colour of blood due to our _own_ blood. What you actually see is a loss of pigment in our irises. If we eat or drink certain things, it helps with the chemical imbalance. Think of it like albinism, only... more complicated."

"You're dead. Your skin is cold, you drink blood, and you're _dead."_

Kate paused at that. "Some of us _do_ have to go through a kind of death, if we become like this through a _changing._ But not brain death, it isn't total resuscitation." She smiled weakly. "You're lucky I'm able to explain this much. I studied in the arts, not the science division."

"So..." Leah hated admitting she didn't know something, but it was too late to pretend she was knowledgeable. "You actually do get changed into vampires? You're not born that way?"

Kate sighed. "Leah, you're thinking about this in the wrong way. Be reasonable. We're not magical. Therefore, what would you call it if someone turned out like I am? Just look at my downsides, not the upsides. It'll be easier."

Leah thought long and hard; Kate had time to disappear and reappear with two cups of tea. _They have chemical imbalances. Something about it stops their heart for a while— is it normal to survive that? Their bodies are too cold. They have _weird_ diets, I can at least tell that much. They change eachother by—_

"Do you change eachother by, uh, biting?"

"Yes." She smiled wanly. "It's a way of looking at it. _Think_, Leah."

_Okay, so if they infect eachother by— Oh!_

"You're _ill! _It's a disease!"

"Bingo."

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>"So," the Other Bella began, crossing her legs and taking a sip out of a metal mug. I had just awoken for the fourth time— actually feeling refreshed, for once. "Why is it that you don't want to train with me? Be honest."<p>

I stared down at my hands, where she had placed another silver mug of hot chocolate; I thought of Seth, of Leah, of the Quileute boys, of Dad. "I have people who are going to be worried about me, and... they might be in serious trouble." I looked at her. "Something weird is going on, more than just you. Remember what I told you about my friend Leah? About the fires?"

"The fires were my fault, Bella. That's why you're here. I got scared, in that dream you had, you remember visiting me? I just grabbed at everything around me to pull and shift time and matter— I pushed that helicopter over to your side, on accident." She looked down. "I was so distracted, I didn't think of you much— I _noticed_ you, but..."

"I know, don't worry about it. It was an accident" We'd been over this. "But... there's just too many other things. Leah and the werewolves, plus someone sneaking in my room? _That_ wasn't you, was it?"

"No, it wasn't." She took a long sip of hot chocolate. "I couldn't get a good glean of what your world looks like, so I'm afraid I can't tell you what that was. The only useful things I knew that ought be told you, I already have."

I nodded. "So, it's just really important I go back. These _abilities—_ they're not going to help them. They can only help me run away." I took a deep breath. "I am _not_ going to run away from life anymore. Going on vacations or adventures to imaginary worlds?" I laughed. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm afraid of _talking_ to people! Maybe I'll figure this stuff out someday, but... I have other problems I need to work out."

She smiled softly. "You're a real good girl. Better than I was at your age; it took me a long time to learn that sorta thing. I get it." She looked down. "But it's still useful. You'll be able to move yourself to keep out of danger. You can move things _in_ your world. You can even change time—"

"I'm not messing with time."

"Fair enough; like I said, tricky business. But... you said you were losing time already. I don't think that was _you_ doing it, Bella."

My stomach dropped. "Then... what was that?"

"I don't know, but after everything I put you through already? I'm not giving you back unarmed and undefended. Not you, nor the people you want to protect." She put down her mug, took my hand, and looked at me beseechingly. "Please?"

For Charlie, for Leah, and for everyone. "Okay. I will."

I'd make myself better, if only to help everyone else. The people in my life weren't nuisances put there to make me miserable. The world comprised of so much more than I had the ability to see, and it was pointless not to learn more about it; pointless to look away, or run away.

My entire worldview had shifted.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>"Uh, Other Bella? This seems like a really stupid idea." Bella shifted awkwardly in her snow gear, staring down the cliffside to where Other-Bella waited at the bottom. Her breath was huffing out in short pants, small gusts of fog breezing out the sides of her mask. "Like, <em>really<em> stupid."

"Physics work different here!" She called up. "Plus, I'll be able to catch you if I think you're gonna die. Come on now, give us some adrenaline!"

Bella clutched with both hands to the harness that tied her to the zipline cord, trying to quell the panic steadily raising— knowing that if that were possible, it would defeat the purpose. "How is this going to help me learn, again?"

"Fight versus Flight!"

"Even if you say that— Oh, the hell with it." She sprang off the cliff, and _screamed._

_Whoosh._

* * *

><p>She shook like a leaf in the direct centre of the line, staring down at the rocks a hundred feet below her, held in place by an unseen force. "Okay okay I <em>moved<em> something and I made myself stop, you were right I was wrong _get me down from here ohmygod—"_

* * *

><p>"So!" Other-Bella said brightly, as her likeness sat trembling on the cold, wonderful ground. "Did you pay attention to what it felt like to shift force?"<p>

"...N-no."

She grinned, bearing her teeth, and Bella's heart dropped. "Up you go!"

* * *

><p>"<em>Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!"<em>

_Whoosh._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope it was worth the wait.**


	16. Rondeau

**A/N: Hello.**

**Warning: Check trigger warnings, if you feel they may apply to you. If I've done poorly, kindly let me know so I may be more clear.**

**Disclaimer: Apart from the John Donne poem below, it's all Smeyer's. I just magnified every character's innate traits to absurdity, and added in a bunch of weird nonsense.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Rondeau<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>When you are gone, and Reason gone with you,<em>

_Then Fantasy is Queen, and Soul, and All:_

_She can present joys meaner than you do,_

_Convenient, and more proportional._

_So, if I dream I have you, I have you,_

_For all our joys are but fantastical:_

_And so I scape the pain, for pain is true;_

_And sleep, which locks up sense, doth lock out all."_

—Picture and Dream, John Donne

* * *

><p><strong>Seth<strong>

* * *

><p>It wasn't the chemical smell that did it, in the end. Started it, perhaps; it was enough to get him sitting up, at least. However, the final factor was the tearing. There was a wrongness in the air; a strange undercurrent, which carried what could only described as a soundless hum.<p>

He felt this ought to disturb him, but there were layers to the feeling. Something about it was familiar, something about it felt right. But almost as similarly, it felt skewed.

If he treated the charge and the hum as two separate things, it became more clear. This strange charge in the air was wrong for a part of him, but another part felt it was almost comforting. This part he could deal with; these clashing feelings seemed natural. However, the soundless hum that accompanied it seemed terribly, horribly out of key. Listening to it was painful; jarring, even. Like the wrong ending to an episode of déjà vu. Like the planet spinning the wrong way.

But then a second hum started, and it was playing the correct, reassuring tune.

Feeling both hums at once made him feel worried; those two hums ought not meet. The bad hum ought not exist. They acted like signals; sourceless shouts in the distance calling him, vying for attention. One jeering, mocking shout that must be stopped, and another shout that required his help.

Whatever they were, he needed to meet them. Desperately.

* * *

><p><strong>Renée, one week earlier...<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>How's 'Thia?"<em> Charlie had asked, like that harpy deserved any attention of hers. Like that woman was her real mother. Of course. He never changed at all.

Phil stepped through the door quietly, several minutes after she had finished speaking. Renée was still sitting on the edge of their bed, staring out the glass doors to the back yard. He could almost feel the cloudy roiling of stress that wrapped around her stiff shoulders.

"He didn't say no, did he?"

"No, of course not. He's... he's not a bad father." She still hadn't turned away from the window. Phil walked over softly, sitting next to her without a word.

Several minutes passed, until, "You didn't have to come back for this."

"I didn't want to make you travel on your own." Then he smiled. "I think Bella'd get mad, at least. Though I guess she might get madder at the going-away party."

Renée looked at the floor. "I tried ballet lessons. Swimming. Yoga. Even just school shopping. Honestly, Phil, I don't know what to do anymore. She doesn't like anything. And now she's going back to Forks? She'll do nothing but hole herself up in her room, reading, and never talk to anyone but Charlie again."

Phil slung an arm comfortingly over her shoulder. "Maybe she'll join a book club."

"Charlie wanted her on pills."

They lapsed into silence.

"What's this really about?"

Her lower lip started to tremble. "Cynthia. I haven't told her of the move yet. I don't want her near Bella."

Phil sighed. "I get it now. I'm sure Charlie wouldn't do that without asking you, and Bella isn't likely to go running off to visit fam– to visit people on her own." He paused, steeling his will. "It's been seventeen years. The lady's ninety-five, Renée. She's not got much time left. Isn't it time you let it..." He furrowed his brow.

Renee stiffened, the dam finally burst and the words poured out, "She's my daughter, and I don't understand her at all. Sometimes I feel like she's not even mine." The sob ripped up from her throat, dislodged pressure of a dormant volcano. "I'm a terrible mother."

"Renée, you're– No, no. The mother you are to Bella has nothing to do with your own. It doesn't matter. You raised her–"

She ripped herself out of his arms, and leapt gracefully to the glass doors. She turned to face him, only long enough to say, "I don't even know who _I_ am!" And then she was running out into the sunlight. Even in his distress, he was enraptured by the way her skin seemed to radiate under sunlight, like the moon brought down to earth. But then, so he had always seen his Renée.

* * *

><p><strong>Mississippi, 1920<strong>

* * *

><p>It was dark in the asylum halls. The gently swaying pendant lights did very little to help discern the interior of the building from the cloth of night that draped over the grounds. The poor lighting was one of the reasons the asylum proved such a safe place for him; the nurses and the other night-workers barely paid him any heed, and the patients– well. They were hardly in any position to say anything of it. Yes, being a mortician had been excellent thinking on his part. Of course, even though most living creatures left him to his own devices, he had still found use for those blasted tinted spectacles.<p>

"Oh, I've been looking everywhere for you!" The frantic nurse half-wheezed, clutching a stitch in her side. Some humans, for whatever reason, had determined that that which looked like a dangerous killer, looked like a potential mate.

"Miss Mallory, please, I'm working. I don't have time to go kill a spider, or hold down a patient for you. Why not ask a guard?" In truth, for all her being such a frail human woman, she was tough as nails. He at least respected this much, and humoured her tricks most nights. This was, of course, only after utterly ignoring her had failed. _They'll be the next death of me, stubborn human women..._

"Oh, it was awful!" He expected her to false swoon, as was her custom, but was surprised to see true terror in her eyes, and in the way she clutched her nails into her sleeves.

"Good God, Mallory. What has happened?"

She shook her head silently, and was wholly unable to speak until she was seated, and he had fetched her a glass of water. Then, tremulously, "It was that wicked girl, that Mary Brandon! I never believed the talk myself, but it's true, it must be! She is possessed!"

"Mallory." His voice was curt, his patience waning. "She is ill. They all throw themselves into passions, surely you don't think–"

"She's– she's not human!" she snapped. Every tolerant, admirable line fled from her features, then. The charitable softness. She was left with nothing but instinctive, cruel, terror, and he wondered, not for the first time, why he ever bothered.

She continued, unaware of the steel that had formed in his jaw. "One moment she was lying still for her bath, and," she wailed. "Oh, I didn't even see her move! She was out of the tub and across the floor!"

He blinked. "You did subdue her, before running to me?"

"I– as soon as I made a breath to scream, she jumped like a cat under water, and then walked back, simple as anything! I was going to scold her, not yet comprehending what had happened, and no sooner I open my lips, she began to sob like I'd taken a switch to her, the way she was thrashing about! I'd half a mind to take up a switch just to snap her out of it! Oh, lord. I swear, after today, I am done."

"She's mad, Mallory."

"She's _wrong."_ There was a brief moment of silence before she looked up again, hopefully. "So, do you suppose we might not meet again, after I leave?"

He crushed her hopes with practised ease. "No, Miss. I suppose we might not."

* * *

><p>No words could adequately convey the depth of his disappointment upon first resting eyes on the girl. From how the nurse had spoken, he had wondered, with a frail awe, if perhaps he had at last found another of his own kind. No matter how far he had searched, he had never found another. Not since his own creator, whom had succumbed to a fire back in his home country, one hundred years ago. And so his fruitless search may continue one hundred years henceforth.<p>

Or eternity.

He gave way to despair, in quiet hiding in the shadows of her room. Perhaps he should travel again. Perhaps he ought break this fool girl's neck for so taunting him–

"Wait!" She then let out a weak cry, and seemed to turn her head away, too quick for him to see–

No. That simply wasn't possible. _What are you–_ he opened his lips to ask, but she shook her head in fearful confusion. He stared at her, mouth agape. _Can you hear me think?_

No reply. He began to speak the sentence out loud, and instantly her expression changed.

Ah. She could not understand, and perhaps could only hear words in his mind that were intended for speech. Nearly a useful power, but not quite. What use was there to foresee a sentence a few seconds early? His creator had been far more impressive than this human girl.

But then again, what was the swift movement, that not even his own eyes could catch? Perhaps he ought–

"Wait!" she yelled again.

Aha. Much more interesting "I won't use the switch, if that's what you're afraid of. But surely you should have known that..?"

She shook her head in perplexity as soon as he had begun speaking. How off-putting. He wondered if she had any power of comprehension, or if she was merely responding with confusion.

As soon as he unchained her, her arms were instantly around him. "Wait!" she said again, though with the action, the tone seemed to imply something he could not compass.

Oh, dear. He seemed to have formed an even further determined attachment than the last. He patted her hair awkwardly. At least this one was not so predictable.

* * *

><p>At first, when he caught the strange scent around the asylum, he was exhilarated. Finally, finally, he wouldn't have to be alone. He wouldn't have to change the girl to keep from being alone. He would form a family. Raise her as his own daughter. Watch her grow up. Expand his own mind! He would learn so very much. Life would finally have <em>meaning.<em>

One hundred years, he had waited. His relief was cut terribly short.

* * *

><p><strong>James, 1920<strong>

* * *

><p>"Don't worry, I won't need her long. I'm an excellent doctor, and I come from a place with great advances in medical technology. I'm not <em>crude.<em> Besides, she couldn't survive naturally, most likely. So I'll just take some eggs to develop later at the correct time, and leave you to your pet."

The other vampire growled, his eyes frantic and murderous.

James sighed. "Oh, I truly was hoping it wouldn't have to be this way, chum. Alas, but it is true. You can't go against the script after all." He settled down into a crouch. "Farewell."

When the job was done, taking her from the asylum was not difficult.

"The girl who existed everywhere but here, but unable to focus except what was within our line of sight. Do you know what I am?" He smiled benevolently down at her. "I'm a tracker. The best in all of history. I am someone who can find anything, anywhere, anytime. Imagine what our powers together could do! I don't even have to; history has already told me. This was meant to happen. Surely you've seen?"

She made a high-pitched, whining sort of noise.

"Don't worry, no harm will come to you. I'll make sure you will live forever, and before you know it, you will find yourself in safe hands. You are far too important to be disposed of." He began to run, clutching her tightly against his chest. "Poor dear, you don't understand a word I'm saying, do you? Too far away in the visions? The humans did nothing for you. But surely, if our venom can cure the body, it will cure the mind. I will operate tonight, take what I need, and start your transition immediately after. I already know where they will find you. Safety is finally here." He grinned wildly. "It's really true. I was meant to save you. I will save the world! The universe!"

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

* * *

><p>"It's– it's hard to explain. My world holds so many secrets. Suffice to say... What James really wants is, he said, he wants to find his grand-daughter."<p>

"He..." Leah trembled. "What? But he's not alive." She blinked. "Well, I guess if it was from when he was human?"

She shook her head.

"Then how can..?"

Kate also began to shake slightly with her next breath. "Genetic research."

* * *

><p><strong>James, Mississippi, 1968<strong>

* * *

><p>"Yes, I'm terribly sorry Ma'am. I know it's unbelievable, but it's true. I'm afraid your sister died while giving labour. Such an old age to be having children, nearly ten years your senior? Yes, it's truly a medical miracle the child survived at all. A blessing, surely. We have the paperwork ready at the hospital, if you are willing to..."<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>"We need to get out of here! We have to warn her!"<p>

"We can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Look outside. Tell me what you see."

Leah followed her instructions. "It's dark out. It's..." She furrowed her brows. "Where are the trees?"

"They haven't grown so very tall, yet."

The silence in the room expanded, and Leah whirled around. "What?"

Kate swallowed. "There's no avoiding telling you. He's made it impossible. We're... stuck in time, for now. We may be trapped here for months. Maybe longer. Assuming he doesn't kill us."

"Stuck in... time?"

"A long way back. This building probably doesn't even exist anymore, where you come from."

Leah fell to her knees, breath coming in pants, trembling violently. "You. Where do you come from? What the hell are you?!"

"I come from much, much, further forward. As most of us do, should you find us. That is the law."

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>"What if you called me Izzy?" asked Other-Bella suddenly, on the second day of training. A particularly odd day of training, at that.<p>

Bella frowned, looking up from the charcoal sketch she had been told to work on. "That's not fair. Clearly, if either of us should be considered the 'Original Bella', it'd be you. So I should be the one going by a nickname."

Other-Bella peered over her shoulder. "You haven't finished your dark tone shading on the hairline. Do that before you continue smudge shading, Bella-Boop."

Bella groaned, but complied.

An hour later, she was finally done. She was rather pleased with herself, truth be told. Once Other-Bella explained the basics, sketching realistically wasn't so hard, after you got the outline finished. "So, how's this supposed to help me?"

Other-Bella admired the sketch, nodding her approval. "Excellent work! Looks just like me. Well, us." She smiled. "And for one, it should help with the prosopagnosia."

Bella blinked. "Piggy-nose what?"

"That's what they call it when you can't see or recall faces too easily. Though you only have the symptoms; the cause is totally different."

Bella blushed furiously, almost afraid to believe it, for all else she had learned. "It's... normal?"

"For some variation on the word normal, as Margaret Atwood might put it." She poured them two cups of tea. "But you acquired it from mental overload. You see billions of faces in your dreams, so they all start looking more or less the same. You'd think it'd be the opposite, wouldn't you? I guess that's just how it is; not all life is perks and bonuses." She shrugged emphatically. "Sketching makes it easier to see the differences, so you won't forget." She nudged Bella with her elbow. "I'll bet you never had a real good idea what you looked like, until now."

Bella grinned sheepishly. "I'm not that bad at it. I recognised you immediately, after all." She grew thoughtful. "But when I look at it as me, and not as You-As-Other, uh, cooler me..."

"Realised you're a looker?" She laughed.

"I wouldn't say that, but not nearly as horrible-looking as I'd thought."

Other-Bella swatted her arm, and Bella laughed too. "This was so useful though; thank you."

"Oh! That wasn't the main lesson, just a nifty trick I wanted to point out."

"Huh?"

And then Other Bella dumped her tea all over her hard work. Hours of meticulous detail, gone. "Fix it," she beamed.

"Why!" Bella blurted. "How?"

"Mess with time."

"What? No, I'll blow up the universe!"

"It's not that big a deal. You were going to do it eventually anyway, and you've got to learn sometime."

"How?" she repeated.

Other-Bella shrugged. Bella stared at the sketch, every second washing another hard-earned detail away. _Ohgod, oh no..._ And then out of nowhere, her brain spat out mockingly, _Edit undo? Ctrl-Z?_

The sketch was pristine again.

"What?" And then she realised, and knocked the cup away before Other-Bella could spill it. _"I get it._ I get it, okay?"

Other Bella grinned impishly. "I do love how I've never _actually_ had to teach that lesson."

"I really hate you sometimes."

"Ooh, a self-deprecating teenager. Not very original, for a time-traveler," she snorted, hunched over in laughter, and then deflected the cup of tea Bella was about to pour over her head. The movement was lightning fast, and all traces of humour melted from her face.

"Hesitate to use this power if you must, but know it well. It _will_ save your life."

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>"Who's the girl he's after? It couldn't be me, could it?"<p>

"No. You're a different test."

"Then who?!"

"A girl named Bella Swan."

Leah _roared._


	17. Stable Loops

**Disclaimer: Is it worth it? Let me work it, I put her world down flip it and reverse it~ Er, that is to say, all Twilight stuffs belong to S'meyer. I'm just messing it up (a lot) and posting it online.**

**Also, check the Trigger Warnings.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: Stable Loops<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"See how the brain plays around?<br>And you fall inside a hole you couldn't see  
>And you fall inside a hole inside a<br>Someone help me  
>understand what's going on inside my mind<br>Doctor, I can't tell if I'm not me!"_

–_The Mind Electric_, by ミラクルミュージカル, from Hawaii: Part II

* * *

><p><strong>Renée, the week after Bella was born<strong>

* * *

><p>It had been a trying week, and I was more than pleased when my mother had suggested the visit.<p>

"Just you, my dear. Charles can keep watch over Bella for an hour or two. I'll come drive you up myself. Besides, now that you are a mother yourself, there are some things I'd like to talk to you about."

I smiled to myself as my mother's car drove past a small mailbox proclaiming 44 ROSEWALL ROAD. The car's mirrors brushed between the thickets edging the familiar gravel driveway. She had been imbuing me with sage advice for the last eight months straight. I couldn't imagine anything that would prerequisite Bella to be out in the world, when she'd already managed to expound upon the virtues of wicker rocking chairs against wooden.

The house was as I recalled, cushioned between two sprawling hydrangeas that produced steel blue bundles of flowers, the last petals of which were fluttering out of the tree, making way for autumn leaves and winds. The little house was covered in wooden panel siding, which seemed to dare the invasion of the thick branches and brambles growing thickly at the edge of the treeline. Some ill-fated vines had crept up the front stair bannister, furtively trying to perforate roots into the worn foundation of the house. Mother had enlisted a veritable militia of neighbourhood boys to cut back the encroaching greenery; the English ivy stood no chance against the grizzled General and her mercenaries.

There was something about that immaculately managed garden that put a bit of steel in that old lady's spine. She could have pineapples growing in the arctic with a soft command and a pointed look.

Hot coffee and toasted homemade bread was promptly conjured. The bread was warm and crisp, and covered in sweet honey, clouding against the heavy-roasted coffee (a smoked woody aftertaste with rich, buttery cream). It tasted like home. Like coming home after a _very_ long day.

* * *

><p>They spoke of small things for a while, of Charlie, Bella, and parenting in general. And then her mother asked, "How have you been sleeping?"<p>

"Like a baby." Renée smiled. "Or rather the opposite. I've heard hardly a peep from Bella since she came home. I've been more worried of her getting wet in the night and waking with a rash."

"I meant you in particular. Have you still been getting nightmares?"

Renée blinked. They hadn't spoken of her night terrors in years. "I have a lot of bad dreams, just as always. But it doesn't bother me the way it used to. Why do you ask?"

Her mother's face was almost eerily calm. "There's something I've been putting off telling you for a long time, now."

* * *

><p><strong>Cynthia, 1960s &amp; '70s<strong>

* * *

><p>She hadn't seen her sister since she was a little girl, perhaps eleven. One day, she had come home from school, and had been told her sister was dead. She hadn't learned of the lie until she was nineteen: that she had been sent to an asylum. She had since gone missing from the records– they were not so well kept, back then– and presumed to be dead after all. And later, in her fifties, she had to learn of her sister dying once <em>again<em>, have to reconcile one missed chance after another for the third time.

This time, however, gave her a niece.

She knew nothing of her sister; nothing that ought be told a child. She promised to her sister's memory to raise her child as her own, and to protect her from all the world's cruelties. To give her a chance at life that her sister had been denied.

She named the child Renée. Meaning, to be reborn. She would be someone that could continue without interruption. No matter what.

The child was peculiar, in many ways. Her husband even found her downright unsettling. She would cry like anything else anytime they tried to get her in the car– or even to go themselves. The drive back from the hospital that first night in particular had been horrid. And she was always _staring_, at anything or nothing with unsettling intensity; the sort of focus you wouldn't expect from a newly-born infant. Her eyes shone deep and dark; not the usual blues and greys of infancy.

She hardly made any noise, in those days. Noise seemed to upset her, and she seemed able to discern when noise was about to happen. Thunderstorms were nightmarish.

Ah, and then the nightmares– it seemed the child could only produce noise at night; though often even that was only a soft whine. Cynthia had gotten in the habit of checking on her several times in the night, to make sure she wasn't lying awake in fright. One night, during one such check, she looked in the cot to find Renée sleeping peacefully– a rare occurrence. She had smiled down softly to the child, and turned to go out the door, before belatedly realising that the child had been lying entirely too still.

She nudged Renée's shoulder gently. Nothing. A slight shake. Nothing. Frantic, she lifted her and held her head to her chest, listening. Nothing.

No breathing, no heartbeat She stood still in shock for several seconds, and had just realised she needed to try to revive her, when she heard it–

_Thump..._

_Thump._

Another second passed, and a slow exhale. Then nothing. She stood stock still, and in a few seconds,

_Thump... _

_Thump._

_...Inhale._

She listened for several minutes before finally waking the child. She seemed fine. She happily tugged on Cynthia's hair, as she bent to listen again.

When she told her husband the following morning– he refused to listen for himself– he shrugged and said, "Well, elephant's hearts beat slow. Maybe she's an elephant. A Renephant." He laughed at his joke, and no matter how Cynthia scolded and pleaded, he wouldn't drop the nickname or take her concerns seriously.

* * *

><p>By and large, Renée grew slowly, which egged him into calling her Renephant all the more.<p>

Her hair grew just as quickly, and she did become more proportional at a normal enough rate, for all her being so very tiny. "My sister was always petite," Cynthia explained fondly. "She just takes after her mama."

"Yeah, yeah. Just cut that mop of hair she's getting. She'll strangle herself in her sleep at this rate."

Renée stared at him without expression; he shuffled uneasily, then beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

><p>And so it went until Renée turned four.<p>

She became much happier; more energetic. She took up new hobbies and sports like they were going out of fashion, discarding them quickly the moment they lost her interest. She was remarkably intelligent; quick to learn.

But she had not yet spoken her first word. She went entirely without speaking until the morning of her fourth birthday. Cynthia's husband was running late for work, and had been preparing to rush out the front door when Renée piped up, "Papa, if you forget your tie, your boss will be even angrier with you."

Well. At least her first word had been, technically, "Papa".

They both stood in shocked silence. Then her husband began on the obscenities– which Cynthia immediately shut down, because _"Well, clearly she understands!"_

Once he was out the door, it took nearly four hours to stop Renée crying.

Her birthday was a quiet affair.

When Cynthia tucked her into bed, Renée said in a voice so soft, she almost didn't hear: "Papa hates me."

She sat at her bedside and smoothed her hair until she fell asleep. Cynthia herself didn't fall asleep until many hours later.

She awoke groggily to a dark, overcast sky, and her husband already out of bed. She grappled for her alarm clock, only to find it was only four in the morning. She shut her eyes, not very sleepy, waiting for her husband to return. Minutes passed in silence, before she heard an odd noise coming from Renée's room. She was crying. _Nightmares again_, she thought. Her husband must have heard her before she did.

She threw on her dressing gown and padded down the hall. Renée's door was ajar, with only the dim glow of her nightlight streaming into the hall. She sighed, and pushed open the door, simultaneously flicking the lightswitch. "You know she's afraid of the dark, if you want her to sleep you–"

She stopped cold. Her husband was standing over Renée's bed, pressing a pillow over her face. Cynthia's throat produced a tiny sound, and then a shout, and then she was across the room, her arms under his shoulders, trying to pull him _back_–

And then Renée was up, pale, wide-eyed. Then she had jumped onto him and her teeth were at his neck and there was a tearing noise and _so much blood_– and Renée was... drinking it.

Almost as soon as it had begun, they were all on the floor. Cynthia stared at Renée, who stared at the body between them. She touched her tiny hand to her mouth. "I..." She looked up, eyes wide and horrified. "I'm..."

Cynthia lifted her and brought her to her chest, "It's just a bad dream, sweetheart."

* * *

><p>The following morning, Renée couldn't recall the night at all.<p>

* * *

><p>"He tried to kill my child, Your Honour. Any mother would have retaliated."<p>

* * *

><p>"What do you think, sweetheart? Isn't it a pretty house?"<p>

Renée crinkled her nose. "Too many plants! There's more plants on the house than bricks!"

"Some gardening will do us good. Come on, now. Let's get your bedroom set."

The young girl trotted after her mother obediently. "I know you wanted a new house, but why did we need to get new names?"

"Well, I got a divorce, sweetie. I know you can't remember your father very well, but he and I just didn't get along. So we needed a new surname, instead of using his. It's normal." Renée furrowed her brow, but nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>Renée, her mother's kitchen<strong>

* * *

><p>She shook her head slowly. "No. No."<p>

Cynthia pushed her face into her hands. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. But you'd forgotten so easily, and to tell you something so awful– sometimes I wondered if I hadn't imagined the whole thing..."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"But you lied!"

"I'm sorry."

Renée gasped. "You're not even my mother!" A long pause followed this. "Who is? Do you really know? What am I? What's wrong with me? Oh God!" She slapped her hands over mouth, before managing, _"_What does this make _Bella..."_

"I'm sorry."

"You should have told me sooner! I didn't get a chance to decide! Oh my God." Finally, the anger turned to tears. "I killed someone. I _drank_ his _blood_. You should have let him kill me."

Cynthia said nothing. To Renée, the silence spoke volumes.

* * *

><p><strong>Seth, Present<strong>

* * *

><p>As he entered the clearing, Bella's body disappeared. But not before he could get a good look at her.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Jacob<strong>

* * *

><p>"I mean, how the hell did she–" and then he heard the presence behind him, and turned. Seth was staring at the spot Bella had vanished from; his eyes a thousand miles away, his face split into the biggest smile Jake'd ever seen on him. Like the kid had just seen the sun rise for the first time.<p>

"Oh, you've gotta be shitting me."

* * *

><p><strong>Seth<strong>

* * *

><p>He snapped out of it, and turned to Sam. He still smiled, though it was diluted. "We should work on finding Leah, or whatever that crash in the air was." He walked over to the spot on the ground, felt it, nodded to himself, and stood. "Yeah, whatever that thing was, it wasn't here. Doesn't smell or feel the same. I think she's okay, now; if I feel it start again, I'll just come back. C'mon."<p>

The other wolves gaped at him as he phased and dashed back into the forest.

* * *

><p>Once he could hear the others in his mind, he sent them the mental image of Leah giving him soup when he was ill, followed by an image of him bandaging her ankle when she fell off her bike. An image of himself making Bella hot chocolate. Bella listening patiently to his worries. A mental shrug.<p>

The others cornered him in a clearing, and he joined them in phasing back. Most stared in confusion, Jared looked mildly disgusted, and Sam's gaze was hard.

Seth sighed. "I just think we're s'posed to keep an eye on eachother. I don't really feel much different about her than I did a few hours ago."

"But you imprinted! And you imprinted on someone who just disappeared! Why are you so damn _calm?"_ Sam interrogated.

When Seth had phased, he'd felt the inside of Sam's mind, torn in chaos. Confusion, guilt, something close to derision– "Maybe you're just too _young_ or something."

Seth shuffled from foot to foot. "It's like... like joining a pack. We're all doing this together, and, like, I already feel like I'm safe here and I'll be able to get along with you guys. Even if we disagree."

Embry smiled encouragingly; Quil's jaw was stiff, but he nodded minutely.

Seth continued, "Because we got this one thing in common, and it's important. Or something like that. I'm pretty sure it's not a bad thing." He swallowed. "I don't think I'm explaining it right; it's complicated. And I don't know if it's normal. I just wanna make sure she's safe; and I'm pretty sure she _is._ I can't really explain why. So... I want to work on making everything _else_ safe." He tried to stand up a little straighter, but mostly felt like he was flopping backward. "Please?"

Sam closed his eyes, and nodded. "The tribe comes first. Thank you, Seth. We can talk about this later. And... welcome to the pack."

Like a dam releasing, the boys rushed forward: a few slaps on the back of the head, some high-fives, a shoulder punch, and they were running off into the forest. Then it was just him and his leader.

Sam smiled. "Well? Show me what you've got, newbie. Race you. First to catch a trail wins." He punched his shoulder lightly as he ran past, phasing.

Seth let his breath whoosh out in relief, and followed.

_Run first. Think later. One step at a time._

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>That night, for the first time since she had arrived there, Bella dreamed.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For the record, not all infants have blue or grey eyes at birth.**


	18. Open Loops

**A/N: It's bugging me, grating me, and forcing me to strive, to be endlessly– not making money off this, but hey, ain't stoppin' me. All Twilights are Belong to S'Meyer.**

**Edit: Updated to correct date. [It turns out, the day changes as you go past midnight! Weird.]**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18 – Open Loops<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>... And further still at an unearthly height,<strong>_

_**One luminary clock against the sky**_

_**Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right ..."**_

–_**Acquainted with the Night, **_**Robert Frost**

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>There was a quiet murmuring of voices, which dissolved into silence upon waking in her bed. The pale grey sky poured muted light through open curtains. The moment she turned to look at her clock, the minute switched, and it began to sound. She swiftly swatted a hand on it, heart matching the pace of alarm.<p>

_Just a dream?_

She pulled herself upright, joints popping, muscles sore. Rubbed the crust from her eyes. Blinked at her surroundings. Her bedroom had changed; her walls were no longer angled correctly; she must be in the guest room, instead of the attic. This is where her room was when she was a child, she recalled. Charlie had renovated the attic for her years ago. The décor of the room was much the same it had been in her childhood.

Her cookies, card, and bookmark-flower from the Cullens were conspicuously missing. Her posters were gone, her book collection had shrunk over to a smaller shelf. There was a wicker rocking chair in the corner of the room. Her desk held a particularly clunky looking PC, in place of her laptop. Worst of all, everything was _clean._ Her just-moved-in clutter was gone, replaced with practically-bare shelving holding photographs and neatly arranged papers. It was just _wrong._ Even if weeks had gone by, it should still be cluttered. But it was so... tidy.

_Just a dream, indeed._

She spun her legs over the side of the bed, and stopped short. There were _house slippers._

"When in Rome," she mumbled, pushing her feet into plush fabric. They were excruciatingly comfortable. _Plus one to you, Some-Bella._ She plodded around, snooping around the shelves. This Bella didn't seem to own a single book published after the turn of the century. At least she still has the Austen and Shakespeare. But no Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a decided lack of science fiction and fantasy.

She switched to pawing through the CDs. Muse, obviously. Debussey, okay, but not as good as Chopin; especially after hearing Alice's rendition of one of his Nocturnes. There was some My Chemical Romance, which was good, but seemed out of place for someone who didn't own a single horror novel. Billy Idol, darn right. Linkin Park... There was no Queen. There was no David Bowie.

There was no David Bowie.

_There was no David Bowie._

Bella screamed silently to herself, her worst nightmare in actualisation.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>Two months passed in the timeless place.<p>

Leah was not a patient woman, though she would have preferred boredom to...

"Carrion vultures, really," proclaimed James the following week, easing himself into a cushioned armchair. He had just returned from his laboratory, hollow-eyed and grinning. Most days were like this; he would disappear into his study for several hours, resurface only to inundate them with pompous proclamations, and then disappear out the door.

Leah curled her hand into a loose fist, imagining the texture of the back of his neck grating against her knuckles. She held back a shiver of revulsion, and shifted slightly closer to Kate on the sofa next to her. Kate sat upright and formal, ankles crossed, staring blankly at a book. Her eyes did not seem to move, but Leah was unsure if she would be able to see the movement if they were.

Sitting next to Kate was like sitting next to a block of ice. A block of ice which had been formed out of a combination of the most disgusting perfumes imaginable, mixed with grated chunks of dead things. It was still preferable to sitting away from her. Kate, though inherently unnerving, was safe. Sitting next to Kate was like sitting next to Jake, or Quil. Leah knew that she had her back, as she had hers.

It was support in a battle that couldn't come. The worst part of being around James was that he was so close, and there was nothing she could do.

Leah searched out patterns in the carpet; Kate stared at her book. James waited.

"... Will you not ask me whom I speak of?"

"You intend to tell us regardless, so why ask?" Kate said mildly, not looking up from her book. It occurred to Leah that she had not once seen Kate turn a page. She leaned slightly to peer at the pages, and blinked. One page of the book seemed to be scrolling, like on a computer screen, but horizontally, with a single line of text. The other page slowly flashed illustrations and footnotes.

"I mean poor Leah's elders, of course."

Had he said it a few weeks ago, Leah would have stiffened, or tried to punch him again. At this point, she rolled her eyes and half-listened, while trying to figure out Kate's infinitely more interesting book.

"My research is going fantastically. Just fantastically. You wouldn't believe the power that lies in poor Leah's genetic code. Ah, to think of the medical advancements that would have occurred if only they stepped forward sooner..."

"Oh yes, they're all very selfish. But we know this already," Leah said blandly. Swift concurrence shut him up sooner. _Do the pages scroll with her line-of-sight, or are they timed? Hmm. _

"Quite so, dear Leah!" Heh. _From 'poor' to 'dear', faster than you can say "Yes, Your Professorship!".  
><em>

"Any luck finding the girl?" Kate asked placidly, turning the conversation. Leah tore her eyes from the book and looked first to Kate, then James. This was not a topic brought up often. This was definitely worth her attention.

James had his eyebrows raised. "Thank you for asking, dear Katherine. Of course I know where she is, but the security precautions placed around her are still vexing me. The solution seems to be right before me, if only..." He sighed.

Leah exchanged a glance with Kate. It wasn't often that James admitted he was having trouble with something. _Good. Enjoy the taste of failure, prick. I hope it sticks in your fangs._

"Anything we can do to help?" Kate blinked prettily.

_Kate, what? _Leah's stomach roiled, but she masked her disgust. She nodded, trying to look as doe-eyed and concerned as her comrade._ You better have a damn good reason for this, lady._

"Dear, dear Katherine. Dear Leah." He smiled softly. "Oh, it is so nice to have company when working in the field, let me tell you. I've greatly missed having support... Thank you. I will let you know." He rose, fixed them with tranquil, steady eyes, collected his workbag, and left through the front door.

Nine minutes passed.

"Kate, _what?"_

* * *

><p><strong>Seth (Present; Oct 04, 06:14)<strong>

* * *

><p>"I found something!" He paused, sniffing again. Growled. That break in the air– it was tied to this smell; this stifling, implacable odour. And that something subtle in the background <em>had<em> to be Leah. He was sure of it.

He did not like this at all.

He phased, and tried his best to send the exact smells to all those currently phased– Jared, Quil, and Jake, as it were.

Jake returned a gut-churning feeling instantly, showing the sharp edges of rot in the perfume; filling in the mental blanks that Seth couldn't quite leap–

Blood-Drinkers.

It should have been instinct for him to notice. He should have recognised it without a second of thought. Leah's scent should have been almost unnoticeable under the stench.

Seth quickly sent a mental nod, and phased back. And tried not to wonder about the reasons for his obliviousness.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate (Pre-Escape)<strong>

* * *

><p>"I have a plan, but it'll require him to trust us to our own devices. But you see, if it works, I can get us out of here! I'll take you... to where I'm from. It'll be dangerous, I can't know for sure if it'd even work, and it's technically <em>illegal<em>, but I'm sure the authority will understand when I explain."

"... No. I can't." Leah's tone was hesitant, apologetic; but her resolve stood unwavering in her eyes. "I won't go with you. Kate, I'm part of the tribe here; I'm a _protector._ That's who I am, and this is where I belong. No matter what."

Kate lowered her eyes, tugging aimlessly at the hem of her ruined dress. "I understand. Maybe we can just..." She furrowed her brow. "No, wait." Looked towards the fireplace, eyes dancing with incorporeal flame. "I _think_ I have another idea."

Leah followed her gaze to the fire-pit. "What, reduce him to ash? I'd've done that ages ago, if–"

"No," Kate grinned. "Me."

Her proclamation was met with an unamused brow. "Look, I've put up with a lot of shit, and while James' whole _I'mma Save the Whole World by Torturing Folks and Being a Bigot!_ thing is annoying, I'm pretty sure I prefer it to suicidal vampires. Spare me, please."

"No, no, we don't _really_ burn me! We just make it look like we did!" Kate snapped her fingers. "Ooh, suicidal vampire? Nice touch. That helps."

Leah's eyes widened. "Wait, so if _you_ have a way to go back home–"

"But this way would mean James is here with you; though I'm not sure I'd have been able to drag him back with us anyway. If anything, this is safer–"

"But then, that leaves me to keep him from–"

"Which you're pretty intent on doing, and he'll never see it coming! You'll use the time to get even more on his good side; I'm pretty sure we can work that in!"

"So– wait, if it's that easy to go back home, why haven't you?"

Kate rolled her eyes with a half-smirk. "It's not. But really, Leah, even if it was: Guess, you _vampire-bigot."_

Leah snorted, then thought about it for more than three seconds. Realised something that hadn't occurred to her, widened her eyes at her companion, and reevaluated her opinion of her. "Oh, you're actually a... Gotcha. Right. So."

There was a brief moment where the unlikely pair simply stared at one-another, one smugly forgiving and the other sheepish, before Kate broke her gaze. "We'll need to know his plans. Everything."

"... No, I do. You don't necessarily," Leah pointed out.

They stared fixedly away from one-another in synchronous contemplation.

"Hmm. Should we each act as his Mutual Collaborators, or..?" Kate began.

"Good-Cop, Bad-Cop?" Leah finished.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World?)<strong>

* * *

><p>To compound upon her dismay, she discovered that it was snowy and soggy outside; a glance at the calendar revealed that this dream took place in March. Blah. Extra layers it would have to be, or she might have Alice nagging her about coats again. <em>And that is one horror best left avoided.<em>

There was a fruitless period of rummaging through the wardrobe, where she came up with nothing but shorts; eventually, she found a tucked-away box hiding in the back of the bottom shelf. There were three faded sweaters and a few pairs of jeans.

_She's even worse than I am! I'll bet she's frozen half the time. Poor Some-Bella. _Meanwhile, another track in her brain added, _[It's her own stupid fault, though.]_

Bella frowned as she parsed both thoughts. And re-parsed them. And sighed. _I'm me, that's all there is to it._ She tugged on the clothing, and began brushing out her hair._ No matter who I am in some parts of my brain, it's the parts I choose to keep that matter._

She felt a little lighter, at that. _[You're in a dream– or rather, another world. Do what you will. Roll with it.]_

_Well, then. Let's see how this Bella rolls._

She plodded down the stairs, socks in hand, and peered into the kitchen. _No Charlie. Weird._ And... the cabinets were canary-yellow, as they'd been a few summers back. They looked in worse shape than ever. Maybe this Charlie wasn't as much into home-improvement as her own father.

She ate some cereal, pulled on her socks, located shoes, strode into the living room– and stopped.

Photos lined the mantlepiece. Of Bella as a child, and of her mother. Even the old wedding photo was there; smack-dab in the middle of the shelf.

She felt a lump rising in her throat and took a deep breath through her nose. _Okay, Bella. Keep it together; play it cool._ She walked deliberately slowly back up the stairs, toward Charlie's room, and found his door left ajar; he must have left for work early. Her sense of propriety satisfied, she peered in past the doorframe.

No trace of her mother, she saw that instantly; Bella came by the clutter honestly. Just a plain, slightly rumpled bed, shelves that held a couple photos and folders, and a bureau with a few spare quilts folded on top. His room was _tidy_, and held _some_ of his warmth, but...

She tried not to think of the lack of books on his cases, and as she traveled back downstairs, to the nearly barren shelves on those in the living room. All she could see of a hobby was his fishing rod and tackle-box set in the corner of the room, next to a pair of scuffed galoshes.

There was a faint whisper in the periphery of her consciousness: _[Charlie and Mom both love me, though. They're both doing well. They're content. Sure, I may not have a big family all living together like the Cullens do, but... It's _perfectlyokay_ if it's like this.]_

The keys were on the hook, as was a jacket. _No umbrella. Whatever._

Then in the car, then on the road. Carefully avoiding some thoughts more than others. Carefully wondering about school; how long had this Bella been attending? What about her classmates, would they be the same people?

It was difficult to feign interest to herself at first, before she remembered the Cullens. How it'd been before she left, and naturally leading up to their disappearing act. She'd been so distracted, she hadn't given it much thought–

_No, wait._ She'd barely been able to think of the Cullens at all, until she went to Other-Bella's world. The whole thing was so very strange; even with everything else going on, why wouldn't she have concentrated on it more before then? The entire family seemed to disappear out of Charlie's mind. What if the same thing was happening to her?

Not anymore, though. She'd been able to speak about them openly with Other-Bella. And now that she thought of it? Ever since she arrived _here_, her thoughts, no matter where they flew, were falling back into orbit around the Cullens.

Particularly, of their beauty. For some reason, she hadn't given that much thought before, either. Maybe she'd been too worried about the actual social aspects of interaction,

Her train of thought was crashed aside by a stunningly accurate mental image of Edward Cullen in all his radiance. _[He is beautiful.]_

She blushed at herself. Well, yes, but–

Re-parsed. Slowed down the truck, and swore quietly, surprising herself. _[Too many Bellas in the kitchen.]_

A recipe for chicken casserole swirled into mind– then a vegan one, then, no, maybe quiche– she wondered if she should stop at the store after–

Shook her head. _This is going to be fun._ She blindly groped around the console, hoping to find a good cassette to keep the more vocal constituents of her mind distracted. The first thing she unearthed was a copy of The Best of Queen, smudged with what looked like in engine-grease. _Bless your fuzzy werewolf heart, Jacob Black._

She smiled. She could handle this.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah (Post-Escape, Oct 04, 06:19)<strong>

* * *

><p>She ran, her legs turning from a part of her body into a rhythm in her mind; a pattern of distance. Her plans were crumpling, so she would bend with the creases. She was agile. She could do this.<p>

_My world is on fire, their kind is destroying my world, I'm going to die, and they're gone. They're gone. _Traitors.

A snap of a twig to her left, and ahead. She quickly dispersed her momentum by grasping an overhead tree branch, allowing her legs to swing up and over and– _thwup–_ the softest landing she had ever managed.

She looked into the darkness. It stared back with golden eyes.

"Pardon me, I was trying my best not to startle you. You're Leah, right?"

"Where did you go? Do you know what's happening? Do you have any idea what you dragged here, you vermin?"

He held up his hands slowly, and walked towards her. The distance didn't matter at this point; it would end up close combat by the time either of them got within one-hundred yards of one another. She didn't flinch.

"I want–"

"Hang on," Leah said, staring closely. "Hey, anyone ever tell you that your eyes look like Prince Zuko's from _Avatar: The Last Airbender?_"

The interruption and non-sequitur didn't seem to faze him, except, perhaps, the slightest shift in his shoulders. "Normally I don't let people near enough to get a good look. And when it happens, they most often keep their remarks to themselves. If anything, they'll simply ask if I'm wearing contacts, or make some vague remark of their being aesthetically pleasing." His lips twitched. "But that's certainly the best compliment I've gotten. Thank you."

"Also? You blood-suckers talk a _lot. _Like, villainous monologues." _Except Kate, who is, at least, a variation on the word sane._ Edward should remind her of James. He should have annoyed her. But there was something about him, maybe in the way he held himself, or he was a better actor, or...

"I'm sorry." He winced. "Time-pressure. Right?"

"In a sense."

His eyebrows drew up. "Well..." He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, of course. Back to topic. Sorry. Bella."

"Yes, her." Leah swallowed, and tried to be annoyed by his saying Bella's name. But she still couldn't bring herself to speak of Bella normally, either. Her brain said the response to Bella as a Conversation Topic was nothing but Part of the Plots, and that she needed to respond accordingly, and quickly.

_It was six months, and four of those involved active deception. It just shows that you did good, and James won't suspect anything. Give yourself a break. You can break down mental walls later and unpack your compartmentalisations when it's safe._

"Leah, I know where she'll be. I'll take you with me; there's no time for either of us to explain ourselves. I'm... going to have to request that you trust me. If not, I'll try to do the best I can on my own, and you can go your own way." He paused. "But I can't let you stop me, either. I– if you attack me, I won't hurt you, I'll just run away."

She stared at him, and then, she tried to pack every feeling into the one word, knowing instantly that he wouldn't be able answer properly: _"Why?"_

Apparently, a vampire could look ill. Well. More ill than usual. "That's how it... how it _happens."_

Leah twitched. "... No, seriously. You guys just go out of your way to sound foreboding."

Again, he winced.

"Well, come on. Where are we going?"

His jaw dropped in astonishment. Leah frowned. "What, you think I got much choice here?" She walked toward him, gesturing to her torn dress. "Look. I can deal with a cold one. I've got bigger problems to worry about."

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. "You... you smell a bit like–"

"Vampire? Yeah, this dress was hers, but–"

"No, no. I mean– Ah, I'm sorry, I might even be wrong but... Have you been, er,"

Her stomach lurched. _Does he know? Can he tell?_

"I'd be breaking about a dozen laws just asking, but... Well. Have you been... displaced?"

_Oh, that._ "You can smell it?"

"I'm honestly surprised you cannot."

Leah thought. "I didn't think about it much, to be honest. A bit like ozone, or... what's that word. The smell of the ground before it rains? Something-core."

"Petrichor."

"Yeah. A bit like ozone and petrichor."

He nodded. "I guess it'd be hard to tell, when it rains so often in Forks." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, time-pressure. Follow me, if you'd be so kind." He began to run in the opposite direction she'd been headed; she matched his stride easily. _I wonder if he's going slow for my sake._ Man, she hated that.

"So you guys really do have trouble keeping track of time? Is that because of the disease, or 'cause you're too busy mentally dancing the time-warp?"

He snorted. "Yes." He slid a glance her way, and raised an eyebrow. "Your voice keeps changing. Was it... I'm sorry, of course it was bad." He slowed slightly; she matched his pace. "I'm sorry. It's... it was my job to keep something like this from happening. And now that we've met, I can't fix it–"

"No. We're on my land. It's my duty to protect it and its denizens; not yours." _Oh, I see what he means._ It was like when she first tried to match James' accents. _At least I sound more like Kate now._

Kate.

She swallowed. "Hey. Blood-Guzzler."

"..?"

"I can't phase right now without tipping off the boys, but I could really use a good run right now. I'll lead the pace; match me and lead the way."

There was a long pause, and then, "As you like, Ma'am."

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>By the time she finally got her mind back in her brain, and <em>mostly<em> figured out how to sift through the peanut-gallery, she was nearly at the school. Though the Cullens kept coming up as a conversation topic, at least she was able to focus her thoughts fluently. She managed to go over their introduction at lunch, Edward's odd behaviour in class, leading up to her visit with them, and their interactions with eachother and herself. Then the oddities; their uncanny-valley manners and poreless faces, their actions and reactions, the knockout forest, how they'd _disappeared_– everything about that family was peculiar.

_You do realise that every strange thing happening in your life right now has only one factor in common, right?_

Bella snorted.

_Yes. _Myself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As Neil Gaiman and Sir Terry Pratchett point out, All cassettes left in the car for over a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen tapes.**

**Reviews are worth 1000 words. (Legiterally.)**

**Also: I ended up getting 2nd degree burns on one of my hands yesterday, and I start a new job in few days, so it may be around a month before next update. Thank you for being patient with me~**


	19. Knights

**A/N: Come ride with me, through the veins of history- and no matter how long you look, you'll never see anything about me owning Twilight. It's all S'Meyer's, folks.**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Chapter 19 – Knights<strong>**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Don't waste your time or time will waste you."<strong>_

**Muse, Knights of Cydonia**

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>Closing the door to my truck, I noticed for the first time that there were snow chains criss-crossing over the rear tires. That explained how I survived the drive here. I'd been so caught up by avoiding uncomfortable thoughts, I barely paid any heed to the ice and snow. I could only assume Charlie was responsible for the snow chains, since this Bella seemed even less prepared for snow than I was.<p>

As I stepped around to examine the tires more closely, one of my legs almost instantly careened out from under me. I managed to catch myself on the tailgate. _Yeesh._ I automatically looked up in embarrassment, hoping nobody noticed.

I saw Edward standing several cars down, on the other side of the parking lot. All other thoughts flew from my mind, as my heart traded places with my stomach. I didn't know if this Bella was friends with the Cullens, but I couldn't stop a huge, goofy grin from spreading across my face.

Edward noticed me then, his head darting up to stare at me, and I smiled even more widely even though that was probably a bad idea and _why is he looking at me like that?_

I heard the van before I saw it; tires skidding over ice.

_Oh._

I never gave much thought to how I would die. Death in general was a subject my mind simply refused to dwell upon; the elephant in the room, the locked basement door.

Looking up into a still vignette; the blur of headlights, small tufts of clustered snow brought into relief. They were pretty; I didn't even like snow, but they were _pretty._ I wanted to keep looking at them, even as I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face.

_I don't want to. I'm not _done_ yet._

And then I shoved the world away from me, I could _feel_ the world stretching to adjust, and the van smashed into the _nothing_ right in front of me.

_Oh._

And another invisible impact sent me sprawling unto pavement. The crunched up van continued to swing like a lever, and then there was something hard under my back, and a sweet scent that distracted my adrenaline-addled mind completely.

_Edward? _His back was to the truck. He was very close; crouching over me as though to shield me from the impact that would never have come.

He was staring at me with bewildered intensity.

He saw, he had to have seen, and what the hell was he doing there in the first place he could have _died_ how did he even _get_ here that fast that's impossible and _oh my god, he saw, he _saw!

"Bella?" He mumbled, lips barely moving, still managing to keep the silken quality in his voice. His eyes were wide, brows raised yet furrowed inward. "You- you should be careful. You hit your head pretty hard." There was an edge of shocked laughter in his voice. Relief? Confusion? Fright?

I blinked, then spluttered, "_You_ be careful!" This is when I noticed he had an arm around me. I played back the scene in my head, as there wasn't time for it to process as it occurred.

Ah. If I hadn't been pushing the van away, then when it swung around the side of my truck, it would have tried to hit me again. And that must have been when I noticed Edward, and that's when I felt his arm under my back, I think, so...

He must have moved me _again_, in anticipation of the blow. He was _out of his fool-goddamned _mind, and he was now staring at me like telling him to be careful was _not_ a reasonable reply, and.

And.

Of all the most ridiculous times it could have happened, I fell in love instantly.

Edward leaned forward slightly to unfurl his arm from under my back, his expression still frozen in concerned bemusement. My shield dropped the van with the loud popping and crashing of broken windows. Everything was beautiful.

That's when I finally noticed the panicked screaming of the surrounding students.

* * *

><p><strong>James<strong>

* * *

><p>He neatly bound the detached arms and legs, placed them in the fireplace, and set them alight. The vampire they were once attached to began to scream.<p>

"_'Why'_, you ask? Why, I think that ought be obvious." He studied the flames intently. It always fascinated him how these sorts would burn for so long. Of course, he'd studied the chemistry and understood it full well, but seeing the practical application was half of the fun of learning.

"Joham, you did not work elegantly, and were crude at best in your ideas." For Morpheus' sake, they were in _two-thousand three._ Those women could easily have lived through the procedure. Not to mention the disgusting method of creating the zygote. To top it off, his methodos meant he couldn't even _look_ at the samples before deciding which implant would be the best. The churl didn't even put effort into his twisted idealism! How vexing.

"Quite the _snob_, really. Full of delusions of grandeur. If you really wanted to work toward the future you had in mind, you wouldn't have done it this way at all. You didn't even know yourself. You couldn't possibly have been a true colleague." A sigh. "Still, you were a... decent well of information. Albeit somewhat shallow and crusted." He wrinkled his nose, looking over his own notes he'd drawn from the vampire's case. Knowing where Joham's children were ought be somewhat useful, though he'd studied their ilk enough. They were simply unlikely to have any genetic variance to update his studies with. Well, more data for the data-pile; he wouldn't look reproduced-results in the mouth.

To own the truth to himself, James considered this to be more of a vigilante case. He knew Joham existed, and therefore he had to stop him. He couldn't just stand idly by, now could he? (Even if he hadn't cared so much for the law, his own ethics would have set his hand to motion.)

And who knows? If he got some leads out of it, well. All the better for the world.

Eventually the flames died down, and the vampire quieted. "See? Once the form is lost, the pain of burning is lost, _along with_ the pain of dismemberment. Your venom has already sealed your stumps, and your brain somehow knows the appendages are gone. Fascinating, no? How would it know that, with all neural connectivity being lost?"

James opened a drawer from his lab table, removing what appeared to be a stapler, and then waved it in front of the vampire's eyes. "I think you've been punished enough. This is to be your anaesthetic. I did not invent it, sadly, but it is a brilliant device." He removed a glass phial from the same drawer, and filled a small cartridge on the back of the stapler. "This contains something like a piercing needle, or razor, built synthetically with materials able to puncture your skin. They are not quite the same as your teeth, but based conceptually on they and carbon nanotubes..."

The bottle was replaced, and James turned the vampire over with one hand. "...Which would be _useless_, but the venom allows for small fissures, which in turn is wedged just enough by the blade to make it through your skin. So, if I punch this through the back of your neck..."

He did so. Joham remained silent.

"... Then your spinal cord is blocked by that bit of metal, held in place by venom, preventing signals from carrying from your body to your brain. Back in the day, I'd've had to jab a tooth in your neck to do that. This is much more elegant. Ah, technology." He pulled the stapler back, the wedge of metal remaining embedded in the vampire's neck, as promised. James smiled. "Of course, this only helps me sedate you to remove your vocal chords, so I can take you back to my home lab without distressing the ladies. I'm afraid you'll still be in a rather lot of pain when I operate on your brain. Que sera, sera."

Joham resumed screaming, strangely. James asked if the anaesthetic was functional, to no reply. Hmm. In all other cases, the same connectivity as seen as the burning appendages didn't apply when the spinal cord was blocked... He'd have to look into that later, when he had time.

Time...

* * *

><p><strong>Leah &amp; Kate (Pre-Escape)<strong>

* * *

><p>They spent two months building the foundation, just in case. Leah could tell it was wearing on Kate far worse; she didn't get to hide her mind behind a facade of cool acceptance. She acted every bit as panicked and forlorn as anyone normally would in her situation. They wanted to make her false-suicide look natural.<p>

Every time they were able to be alone, Leah talked softly and shared tea with her, making sure it wouldn't _become_ natural. Kate, for her part, would also try to make sure Leah wasn't starting to agree with James, and fall into real stockholm syndrome.

Their final days together were not peaceful.

Finally, it was time. James would be coming out of his study shortly. They both began to argue; Leah about the greatness of the task James had set out on, and Kate on Leah's utter insanity and betrayal. They heard James' footfalls begin up the stairs sooner than expected, and Kate took the opportunity to throw a tea pot at Leah's head. It smashed on the wall behind her as he opened the door.

"_Enough."_

Both women froze in place, glaring daggers at one-another.

"Leah, you'll be coming onto the field with me today. I no longer believe it is safe for you to be alone with this... vampire. Come."

Their eyes locked for one last time, and then Kate was alone.

* * *

><p>She waited a half hour, before gathering her old tattered dress from her bedroom, and setting it neatly on the floor in the middle of the living room. She tossed her jewelery into the fireplace. She went into the basement, and searched. It did not take very long before she discovered three vampires kept in pieces, in boxes. As she'd suspected.<p>

None of them were responsive. She went over James' notes again (she _always_ read his notes when he was gone, as he well knew) and, even if they were brain-damaged, she would take them with her. It was possible something could be done for them. The bodies were laid gently on the couch.

She searched the basement, and was able to find enough bio-material (she wrinkled her nose) that could be burnt into false-ash. That went into the fireplace.

In the basement office, she located a small object kept in a lower cupboard; there were several of them, so she took four, and pocketed one extra for luck. She attached some to the other vampires, though her own ought be sufficient to take them all. She pre-set the coordinates for a small area containing the couch, and then set a timer for two minutes.

She lit the material in the fireplace. And then she lit the basement itself aflame, stoppering the basement door with a wet blanket. Moving at top speed, it was the work of ten seconds.

Sat calmly with the other comatose vampires, making sure they were all in physical contact, even if unneeded. This part always made her nervous.

She waited, watching as her false-remains burned in the fireplace, listening as glass in the basement burst from the roiling heat.

_Check. Finish it, Leah._

* * *

><p><strong>Forks PD (A small cluster of cruisers just off Mora and 101)<strong>

* * *

><p>"We managed to trace her mobile phone to an abandoned house just off the highway, but it abruptly cuts off. Though she is a teenager, she <em>is<em> a legal adult, and as she was reported less than twenty-four hours after going missing... For now, they've decided to let you keep the case while they focus on the fires up by town. They don't think she's related to the incident."

"Thank you," replied David- their chief of police. He gave a quelling look to Charlie, who looked about to argue. Harry Clearwater nodded.

"Since it's in my jurisdiction, I'll stay here with the detectives while they continue investigating the fires. Arianna, you take Charlie and Harry and start up toward the house. I want two more officers and an EMT on call with you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good luck."

* * *

><p>Arianna took a sip of the now-cold tea, trying to ignore the silence of the men in the cruiser with her, and trying not to let the words <em>conflict of interest<em> cross her mind too often.

Talking to families of victims was difficult enough. This was just brutal.

They pulled up a gravel drive to the dilapidated cottage wordlessly.

It was on fire.

… _Welp._

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>Next thing I knew, I was being strapped to a gurney, despite being totally okay. More than okay, really. I was more concerned about the young man in the van at the time- his face was covered in lacerations- but upon seeing my expression, Edward quickly murmured that the boy was fine. Just in shock.<p>

I decidedly liked when Edward leaned close to murmur things. A list of things I enjoyed about Edward was compiling quite swiftly. However, once the paramedics fitted me in a neckbrace and rolled me toward an ambulance, with Edward able to charm himself into the passenger seat up front, I also began compiling a Mild Annoyance List.

The lists flew out of my mind when my father arrived on the scene. Distractedly, I assured him I was okay. I was too distracted by the shiny badge on his chest. He was police chief in this world. _Wow. Good going, Dad. Huh._

He noticed my expression and seemed to take it to be shock, panicking further. I didn't get a chance to calm him down before the ambulance doors closed. I could hear the police escort follow us to the hospital, and tried not to be embarrassed.

Out the doors, toward the hospital- seeing Charlie again, muttering another quick apology and reassurance- watching Edward walk easily through the double-doors without anyone fretting over him. _Why isn't anyone worried about him? If any of us were likely to die today, it would have been _him.

(The paramedic I complained to ignored me.) (Another tally to the Things About Edward That Annoy Me List, which was also branching into a Worry List.)

I clenched an unclenched my fists; they felt cold and numb. Maybe I _was _in shock.

* * *

><p>Before I knew it, I was already in a hospital room, waiting on the doctor. Must have been a slow day for the Emergency Responders; I was perfectly fine, after all. The other student from the van, Tyler Crowley as I'd learned his name was- he looked bad. He was put into another bed near mine, nurses unwrapping bandages around the cuts on his face.<p>

He spilled forth apologies to me, which I quickly dismissed. "How do you feel? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just- geez, I could have killed you, I thought I did."

"Don't worry about it. Just get yourself fixed up. I'm one-hundred percent okay."

He nodded blankly, giving in to the nurses' ministrations, as I myself was wheeled away temporarily to get X-rays done. When I returned, Tyler and I exchanged a few more worried and apologies, before falling silent at one of the nurses' reprimands.

I lay back in my bed and shut my eyes, trying to slow my exhalations. I'd found myself running on adrenaline far too often these last few days; last thing I wanted to do was get twitchy and tear a hole in the universe.

"Are you awake, Bella?"

I nearly bolted out of my skin at the soft voice.

Edward was sitting at the foot of my bed, looking perfectly fine in every meaning of the word. I stared at him. "How'd you get in here?" Not that I minded. I could think of far worse things to find on my bed. "And how come you didn't end up strapped to a gurney and plopped in a cot like the rest of us?" This last bit was said a bit sourly. I didn't like hospitals very much, and the atmosphere wasn't doing well to calm me down.

"I've got connections. It's all about who you know." He grinned. "And don't worry. I'm here to spring you."

Before I could ask what he meant, his father strode into the room. I'd forgotten; Mr Cullen was a doctor.

He smiled at me, asking, "Nice to meet you, Miss Swan. How are you feeling?"

Oh, right. I hadn't met him yet, either. Weird.

"Peachy keen, Sir." I was beginning to sound like Other-Bella. Uh, Trainer-Bella. _[Too many Bellas in the kitchen.]_

He examined my X-rays, which I curiously read over (well, under) his shoulder. Wow. This Bella had more re-healed bones than I did. _That's just impressive._

"Everything looks good here, but how is your head? Edward says you hit it against the asphalt."

I rubbed a hand over the back of my hair unconsciously. "Sore, but fine, I think. I don't think I have a concussion or anything."

"Hmm," he hummed, and moved my hand to examine my scalp. I winced once, but assured him that it wasn't severe. He switched over to check my pupils with a pen-light, and seemed satisfied.

"Your father is in the waiting room; I think you're good to go. I don't want you in school for the day; nothing strenuous at home, either. Take it easy, and call us at the first sign of dizziness or impairment in your eyesight. Maybe take some Tylenol or Advil for the pain."

I smiled weakly. I was already likely enough to break my neck just trying to navigate the ice in my driveway. _[Just the ice?]_ A voice in my mind quipped.

Standing up slowly, I took a few test steps to reassure the Doctor; it reminded me of being in a certain nurse's office. He nodded, wished me well, and strode over to Tyler.

Doctor Cullen was so _calm_ in this world; it was just _weird._

I'd almost forgotten that Edward was there, until he intercepted me outside the door. "Bella, I'd like to speak with you for a moment, if that's okay."

I felt a cheerful blush heating my face, and nodded. We walked down the hall for a ways, before I remembered just why we were there in the first place.

He _saw._ There was no way he missed what happened back there. He probably wanted an explanation, and I had no time to think up a plausible-sounding story.

_[Well, shit.]_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Is the plot starting to come together for you? Any niggling questions? I'd like to hear what's on your mind. (Also, sorry if it feels rushed- I wanted to get my edits out before I head to work.) Additionally, for the vampire anesthetic, the idea mostly comes from the fic Luminosity, which is about 5 billion times better than mine. Go read it.**


	20. Key

**A/N: There are an awful lot of things I don't own. It would, in fact, probably take me far less time to point out the things I do own to the things I do not. That said, Twilight is firmly set in the box of Things I Do Not Own.**

**Trying to write this story is getting to the- okay, far past the point where it's like trying to pull teeth. (Especially since I promised I wouldn't go back and edit until I finish the darn thing. I'm honestly surprised anyone even makes it past the first chapter.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20 – Key<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest. She wondered, vaguely, whether being under this much stress so often would cause her body to wear out entirely. Before recalling that this wasn't even her own body. <em>Weird.<em>

Edward walked with his head down and his shoulders hunched, but was peering around them with darting eyes, as though tracking every movement in the room. He lead them to a quiet nook in the hallway, leading toward the fire exit.

While Bella's eyes lingered over the emergency escape doors, he began speaking. "So, Bella, about today..."

"Crazy day, huh?" Bella said quickly. "I'm actually feeling really tired, what with all that happened, so I think I'll just go home. Uh, my father is here, if you need a ride he'll probably–"

"No, that's fine," he said, his tense posture dropping into smooth nonchalance. "I'll just wait until my sister arrives."

Bella blinked. "Yes, so everything's good? See you in school tomorrow?"

"Yes," he replied firmly.

She walked away, him still staring after her back. Her mind was full to the point of being white noise.

_Too much. Too much everything. I'm tired._

* * *

><p>It didn't occur to her until she was pulling into her driveway. That had been <em>too easy.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Another Edward (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>They were all gathered for an emergency family meeting the moment they got home. They were all relieved that she didn't seem to notice anything strange about Edward, <em>("Either she's an excellent liar, or ridiculously unobservant", Jasper had said),<em> but there were a few other matters that needed attending to.

"It was my name," Edward was explaining. "And the tone in her mind was so..." he trailed off. "I didn't imagine it. It was only for a moment, but-"

"Son," Carlisle interrupted. "I believe you."

Alice was still sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. "I guess it's a give-and-take. Now _you_ can read her, but _I_ can't."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since this morning. And the effect sometimes spreads to _everyone_, and– Oh, ow," she whimpered. Jasper smoothed her hair consolingly.

"I'm not moving for this," Rosalie said briskly. "Before anyone gets any ideas."

Alice massaged her temples, looking vexed. "I don't think that's really the issue, anymore. Edward, what do you want to do?"

"Why should anything change?" he asked weakly. He knew it was too late, now. There was no way he'd have the will to stay away from her.

"Perhaps we could invite them over for dinner?" Esme asked, looking much more cheerful than the rest. She was practically _glowing._ "Bella and her father, that is. I've been reading some cookbooks– for fun, you see, no particular reason–"

Edward groaned.

"We do need to keep an eye on her. I still don't believe she failed to notice anything," Jasper said. At Edward's look, he added, "I'm sorry, but she was perfectly lucid for the duration of the incident, as you said. I don't think anyone would _miss_ someone shoving away an oncoming van. If anything, I'm the only one here not insulting her intelligence."

"And if we have her over for dinner, it would be a good time for Edward to try to glean information from her," Carlisle mused. "And for Alice to figure out what's blocking her. If she has an ability, it's likely her father has some variant..."

Edward froze, then nodded dully. "I hadn't thought of that. I'd never paid much attention to her father, but I get limited information from him as well. I just thought he was... Well. It makes sense."

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>When she got to her room, she half-expected the other Bella to be waiting for her, to tell her that her accidental vacation was over. But it was empty.<p>

_I should go back, but..._

Everything was so _peaceful_ here. It wouldn't hurt to stick around for another day, right? It wasn't like anyone would miss her.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate (in a passage from <strong>_**The Early Ones: A Historical Memoir)**_

* * *

><p><em>Now, as everyone knows, traveling through time is a very risky business. That is why no-one is permitted to travel alone until they've obtained certification in Travel Mechanics, gotten government permissions, and have taken the relevant Common Sense Core Curriculum.<em>

_I imagine, thus, that anyone with even a passing interest in the subject is cringing and asking themselves how I lived to write this. For those not cringing, allow me to provide some background information on travel regulation._

_Everything is sanctioned, including your return trip. It's difficult enough going back in time_–_ someone has to go through heaps of data to make sure that you won't be appearing, say, in the middle of a large tree, and entombing yourself. Or appearing in someone's living room and breaking Immersion Guidelines._

_We do everything carefully, and the reason we have so few problems is that nobody _wants_ to break these rules. We are an advanced society, wherein even our criminals do not like to die from stupidity, thank you._

_Yet, not even for criminal reasons, I did something very, very stupid, and thereby, very, very illegal. My only excuse is my duress; I had literally no choice._

_For return trips, there are several methods you can use: 1) Visiting a Master with a group of competent mechanics to send you back safely. (This was my original plan, because I took the relevant Do Not Be An Idiot And Kill Yourself course.) 2) Have a Return Key lined up to draw you to a buffer zone, or to the departure point it was originally set to use. Expensive, but as you know, James had them in abundance._

_The last method is not a method at all. The last method has a 10 credit required course, explaining why you never, ever do it._

_The last method is to use a return key that has no coordinates to a buffer zone. Such as, say, a key that was lying in an entire bin of keys, with no preset location. That is, essentially, setting yourself to come back in whatever area you happen to be in at the time. Such as, perhaps, in the middle of a rather large tree._

_Guess who stole her Return Key, and thus had no return coordinates?_

* * *

><p><strong>Kate (Forks, a long, long time ahead)<strong>

* * *

><p>I'd tried my best. Each of the keys was set to go off five minutes after when I had set mine for, pushing them ahead one more year. Just in case. There was only the tiniest chance this would do anything to help them. Even if the others did manage to get to a free space, I don't know what would become of them. My hope was that someone would trace the reading, find them, see where the jump had originated from, find <em>me<em>, and then I could explain.

It was the stupidest plan anyone had ever come up with. Thankfully, it wasn't needed.

I fell with a bang, lights blaring into my eyes. A quick glance showed the others had successfully been brought with me. (I noticed, with a pang of embarrassment, that I over-did the programming, and had brought small pieces of the couch with us.) We seemed to be in... a cave?

"Kate!"

It was the last voice I'd been expecting. She ran at me with her swift vampiric speed, and threw her arms around me with a sharp crack. I yelped in surprise, and the next thing I knew, my sister was on the floor, knocked out.

"What?"

She'd willingly changed into a vampire before me. If anyone should have been hurt by her exuberance, it should have been me. Last she knew, I was still a squishy human.

"Tanya? Are you okay?" I'd never seen her hurt, not since we were kids.

"Don't worry Miss, it's just latent ability. You can't have had someone test you for it yet." A uniformed man side-stepped my sister's body on the ground, holding out a hand to me. "Patrol Junction US-NW welcomes you, and congratulates you on your trip," he said in a flat stream, pulling me to my feet. "And I'd like to have some words with you–"

"After she gets therapy, thank you." Another man in a lighter uniform appeared behind him. "You made the same agreements I did." He smiled at me brightly. "Welcome home. It seems you've had a great ordeal, and are probably traumatised." He slid a _look_ at the officer.

The officer grumbled. "Shouldn't have agreed to this goddamn government conspiracy stuff. Always gives me a headache."

"I'm sorry," I said, as Tanya groaned and started pushing to her elbows. "But _what?"_

"First thing's first." The medic cuffed something around my arm and stepped back. My vision turned dark and clouded, and I fell over in exhaustion. It felt like no time passed as I sat back up again, and found them patiently waiting around me; the medic was busy taking my vital signs. "Feel better?"

I groaned. "Time sickness. Hadn't realised it'd gotten so bad. I suppose it must have been worse, because he–"

"No, no, your story isn't for us. Just relax, please."

So I did, for the first time in ages.

* * *

><p>"You're not a rescue crew. You're a normal recovery team," I said, after we exited the hole in the wall. It turned out to have been excavated from the depths of an office building's parking garage. <em>(This, kids, is why you never do a return trip without coordinates.)<em> We were seated in a small breakroom a few floors above; they'd offered me tea, which I flatly refused in favour of a _strong_ cup of hot chocolate.

"It wasn't a rescue. We dug out that hole last week on a tip." The medic was speaking in an annoyingly soft voice, watching me for signs of a breakdown. I'd hold it against him, if it weren't for 1) That being his job, and 2) He made a killer cup of hot chocolate.

"Wasn't a tip," grumbled the patrolman. He was still twitching slightly from having to help the medic transport bits of broken vampire into an on-call ambulance.

"That's the thing. How did you know? About me, about where, about the," I gestured vaguely, "you know, bodies. I figured that even if you found me I'd be arrested on the spot. Or are you waiting until after cocoa?" Recovery Teams were usually pretty weird; I wouldn't have been surprised if that was the plan.

"That's the most interesting thing!" Tanya said, leaning in. "It wasn't a tip, it was the government! One of the _higher-ups_ got a tip, so whatever happened, it must have been incredibly important! What did you _do?"_

I thought for a moment. I shuddered. "Uh, Medic? I think I'm in shock." He'd already measured my vital signs and declared me _a little distressed but unscathed,_ but I didn't have any other words for how I felt.

"We can talk about what happened to you later. Well, I mean, you can talk to a shady government official about it later. We're just cleaning you up, then having you report in at the offices, and after that..."

"What? What happens after that?"

The Officer broke in. "That's all. You maybe see a doctor and read some pamphlets on the joys of being a vampire, learn how to not shock your sister on accident, and go back to your everyday life, just like the rest of us. It's a conspiracy, I tell you. Only I wish they wouldn't be so lazy and make us join in. This job already gets weird enough, and it's my day off, for–" he quieted mid-rant with a sharp cracking noise beneath the table, the medic sitting very still and smiling benignly.

"I bet it was the Volturi," my sister said, eyes sparkling. "Or maybe even the Morpheus."

The medic shot her a look. "Madame, we take family members on recoveries to calm people down. Please don't borrow trouble." He smiled at me kindly. "You're back home in your normal year. I assure you the Volturi are still as disbanded as ever." He swallowed. "And the Morpheus, naturally, doesn't exist."

"Tosh," grumbled the officer. "Who the hell else would know exactly where to find you? That report was _detailed_, and we got the blacked out version! It's one or the other, I say."

"And with that, I think it's time to take you to reporting!" the medic said loudly. "Please, that is enough. Stop distressing my patient."

Though I didn't think I could get much more distressed, I agreed, and we left to the quote-unquote shady government organisation, which is to say, a cramped office at the courthouse with an overworked recorder.

Afterward, I went home, cried into my sister's neck for an hour, and tried my best not to think of it. For years.

* * *

><p><strong>Other Bella (in an outpost in the middle of the mountains)<strong>

* * *

><p>She isn't in her cot when I return that evening, and I slump into the chair adjacent with a sigh. Things had been going remarkably well, all things considered. Personally, I'd found out most of this stuff on my own before I came into contact with a Duplicate, and even <em>then<em> I hadn't taken it into stride the way this one had. She was really something else.

I did some quick calculations in my head; if this Bella left her home-world (1) at a basic set, she'd be visibly missing for ten minutes per RealTime day. If she went on to another world (3) through the joint of _this_ world (2), both of our setups could overlap, so instead of working from the first knot in the chain _directly_ and having a new apparition point–

I cringed and rubbed my eyes. I was awful at this stuff. That's why I left to begin with. I was the last person in the _multiverse_ who should be explaining this nonsense to her.

Okay, guesstimation. Assuming the most pessimistic scenario, and she's going through some weird layering of time, I could probably let her bed remain empty for a day or so. That way, if she decides she wants to use her initial departure point, it shouldn't be an issue. Or at least, I think it probably wouldn't offset her time by more than an hour. Maybe.

… Probably.


	21. Blind Spot

**A/N: Make sure you're caught up; I just updated last week.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: It is a truth universally acknowledged in canon, that any author in possession of a successful series mustn't be in want of an AU. (That is, I don't own Twilight. I am writing fanfiction.)<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21 – Blind Spot<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>Nothing he's doing is legal," said Kate, though it sounded to Leah like a very pretty way of putting it. "The way he does things... you'd have to be insane. Insane, and with a death wish. He's mucking around in things that ought not be mucked with. Just... promise me you'll get yourself out of there. Okay?"<em>

–Kate, pre-escape, planning with Leah

* * *

><p><strong>Leah (with James, after the fake-fallout with Kate)<strong>

* * *

><p>"I apologise for that, dear Leah. I did not believe Kate would pose such an... inconvenience. She will be dealt with, later."<p>

Leah nodded coldly, inwardly both horrified and relieved. So long as everything went to plan, Kate should be okay.

"Now, what shall the itinerary be today..." He slid an amused look at her. "Fortunately I prefer to decide after leaving, so your presence here will not detract from any plans. As a matter of fact..." He grinned widely. "Oh, I know just the place."

Leah frowned. "Wait, you go to different places? I thought you were just looking around Forks?"

"Oh heavens, no. Could you imagine trying to work with various copies of myself gallivanting about?" The idea, in fact, sounded terrifying. On many levels. "Not to mention the significant rise in probability I'd be _interrupted_. Hmm, I suppose such a thing would not occur to you."

He chuckled. Leah kept her breathing steady, and did not grind her teeth.

"That said, I do believe we will be staying local today. Yes, I feel like this is the best plan." He held out his arm, and as she wordlessly accepted it, he removed a small disk from his suit pocket. "Ah, the right place at the wrong time," he mumbled. "Poetic as that would be, I've never been wrong."

The air whorled and the ground snapped up to greet her knees, her insides tugging at themselves until she was hunched over retching.

James waited patiently for her to finish. "Ah, yes, never you mind. It happens. I promise it will be worth the trip; a special treat!"

She wiped at her nose with a dirt-smeared hand, world still blurred from nausea and tears. _Oh, I do _not _like the sound of that._

* * *

><p>"Honestly, this should have been at the top of my itinerary," he said. He had been gracefully navigating through a bramble scrub, on the first trek through, presumably just to make her life difficult. But Leah practically lived in these woods, though they may look somewhat different now. She stomped through after him easily, until he grew enough aggravated by the noise to switch to a clearer path. They were nearing the ocean, now, heading toward the reserve.<p>

"Why?" At first, she hadn't wanted to ask, but not-knowing was so much worse.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Can you not guess? Here, a hint: the year is 1250. Try to recall your local lore, if you can."

They walked in relative silence for ten seconds, before he grew impatient with not hearing his own voice. "...The wolves, dear Leah. Today is a momentous occasion; they will be activating."

She stumbled slightly on a fallen tree branch, but righted herself easily. He must have noticed, but he said nothing.

"Do you recall how the wolves activate? Or I suppose, you'll at least recall why they did the first time. That ought be enough to jar your memory." This time, he only waited the pause of two breaths. "That is, they activated due to a vampire threat." He stopped, and turned to waggle his eyebrows at her. "And it occurred to me, _oh, how rare, it must have been me, of course!"_ He chuckled. "It certainly seems like a stable consequence! Oh, this will be so fun!"

They continued wordlessly, as Leah recalled tales of slaughter and desperation.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>Dinner that night with Charlie was a quiet affair, though she heard him checking on her several times throughout the night. She was <em>fine. <em>Wonderful, even. She couldn't even bring herself to be grouchy the following morning, as crisp winter light streamed through the window, illuminating a multitude of snowy tufts. Not even as she parked her behemoth of a truck in the slushy lot outside the school, or when the air stung her face bitterly as she walked up the path.

She even tried to admire the snow clinging starkly against the dark, spindly tree branches. She could see what Alice had meant by Forks becoming a "fairly-land" in the winter. She was very nearly able to appreciate it.

In fact, even as her toes went dead numb by the time she reached her first class, there may have been an entire one-tenth of her mind capable on remarking on things other than how damn _cold_ it was.

"_Who needs _coldcoldcold_ the sun, or _coldcoldcold_ any of my _c-c-_ old life?" _she thought to herself. _"I'm _coldcoldcold_ perfectly happy _coldcoldcold_ here! I could _coldcoldcold_ stay here _coldcoldcold_ forever _(coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold cold_mygod_why)._"_

Not to mention, she'd only have to wait until lunch to see Edward again.

At _that_ thought, she grew decidedly more restless. Fortunately, the classrooms seemed fairly well heated. So instead of thinking only about how cold she was, or throwing herself into mental scenarios of speaking to Edward, she instead spent each forty minute period concentrating on the slow thawing-out that came with having to walk outdoors from class-to-class.

Fortunately, lunchtime rolled around just when she was on the brink of teleporting to the nearest desert.

A girl– Jessica, her name was– approached her. She opened her mouth as though to speak, before thinking better of it.

This may have been due to her finding Bella quietly cursing Demeter under her breath. Realising this, Bella self-consciously snapped her jaw shut, taking a moment to get her bearings before speaking.

"Sorry," she bit out. "Cold." _Coldcoldcoldcoldcold._

Jessica smiled knowingly. "Still not used to it, Phoenix-Girl? Don't worry, in a month or two, we'll be up to a toasty fifty degrees or so."

"That sounds _divine._ So... you were saying something?"

"Yes. _Spill."_

It took her a moment to realise what she meant.

"Oh, I don't know how Tyler is yet; I left the hospital before he did. Edward and I are fine, though." She smiled. It was nice to see she (or at least, this Bella) had made such nice friends in such a short period of time.

Jessica rolled her eyes. "I know that, _obviously,_ you're both in school! But what _happened?"_

She frowned. Jessica was a pretty decent gossip; she should already know by now. "Uhm, Tyler's van almost crashed into me. Edward and I–" She paused. "We managed to duck out of the way."

Jessica stared. "What are you talking about? Wasn't Edward, like, all the way on the other side? It was like one second he was there, and then he's getting picked out of the rubble with you!"

She matched Jessica's stare.

_What... what _did_ happen?_

* * *

><p><strong>Leah<strong>

* * *

><p>When they returned, the cottage was on fire.<p>

"How queer," James said. Then sighed. "If you'll hold a moment, dear Leah." He messed with his disk, disappeared in a haze, and in the span of two blinks, was back with...

"Is that a grenade?"

He smiled. "Oh, is that what this looks like as an anachronism? How quaint." He walked forward a few feet, pulled a pin, and tossed it into the flames.

Almost as soon as they hit the heat, there was a loud _Bang!_, the flames dying out instantly.

"Chemicals. Fun things, those. Making stuff up as they go along, though, if you ask me." He made a show of soundlessly cracking his neck. "Well then! Let's see the damage."

It hadn't even occurred to her before this trip that he may have just gone back in time to prevent it. But with what he said earlier about paradoxes and copies of people... Kate, surely, must have known, and accounted for everything in her plans. Leah never gave her enough credit.

_Kate, you knew your stuff. I hope you're safe, whenever you are. Let's try to continue our win streak, together, through all this. And if I ever find you again..._

She looked at James as he fussed over the fireplace, and at his inevitable conclusion of Kate's suicide, made a show of great distress and regret.

Another internal voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Kate, said: _Check._

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>"I... I don't know. It all happened so fast, you know. Maybe everyone was too distracted to see him run over, or something." She shifted uncomfortably. It would be easier to just tell Jessica to ask him instead, but it felt rude. He didn't seem like someone who would like the prying, and this Jessica might have been as intimidated of the Cullen family as the Jessica from her world.<p>

Bella smiled weakly. "Sorry I'm not more helpful."

"What? No, that's fine," Jessica said, raising her eyebrows. "Sorry, I mean with everything that happened, I guess I should be asking anyone else, right?" She prodded Bella to move up in the line– they'd been talking for a while and the space was growing– and gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Gives me an excuse to ask him myself, though everyone else says he's not talking."

_Oh well, so much for that. _"I'm sure you'll be able to charm the story out of him, madame journalist."

Jessica laughed, and everything was fine.

It was weird how much easier it was to talk to people here. Maybe since she _assumed_ this Bella was someone who got along with people better... Though she still hadn't even looked toward the Cullen's table.

The thing was, she was planning on trying to sit with them today. And even in this world, the idea was stress inducing. There had been nothing to indicate a particular friendship with them. So she decided not to think about it at all, the whole day through– no running the scenario through her mind beforehand. As soon as she got her lunch tray, she'd make a beeline for their table. That way, she wouldn't talk herself out of it.

She made smalltalk with Jessica for the next minute or two (that is, Jessica talked and she made small conversational noises as warranted), and steeled herself as she received her tray.

This was it.

The big one.

The moment of truth.

… _Actually,_ she thought to herself,_ I've been through an awful lot for something like this to be a big deal. Oh well._

She kept her head down and let her feet steer her toward the table. When she was only a stride away, she looked up, opening her mouth to speak–

Edward wasn't there.

She halted, staring blankly, so embarrassed that her mind couldn't even comprehend it.

They stared back.

Time seemed to stand still.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah and James<strong>

* * *

><p>He gathered what remained of his equipment, tsking, and led her outside. Then he knelt over a small box, and set to work running around the house in a blur, doing things too quickly for her to see.<p>

In the next ten minutes, he did something that made the air waver grossly again, and then the cottage was restored in a blink.

* * *

><p>"<em>I don't know how to explain. Having this house stand here, without moving in time– <em>nobody_ has done that. It just can't be stable. And with him always running out and about, just what is he doing?"_

–Kate, pre-escape, planning with Leah

* * *

><p><strong>Leah and James<strong>

* * *

><p>"Can you... can you do that?"<p>

"Well Leah, I should think that would be obvious, as I just did."

"I mean, it seems like something could go wrong if you do something like this."

"Hmm? Well, it certainly seems like a good idea. What more does one need?"

"But what about, I mean, paradoxes, and–" She paused. "Is Kate in there?"

"Alas, no, just the iteration of the house itself. I keep it existing a bit separately from us, you see. Doesn't work with sentient beings that can observe, unfortunately." He gave her a pat on the shoulder.

Leah quelled down the next fifty questions that crammed around in her mind, jostling for attention. And hoped that Kate was wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p><em>...Wait. Time is actually standing still. Crap. <em>I tried not to move; if I managed to unstick time and was standing too differently, people would panic. _Of all the places to linger, why this moment, out of any? Ugh..._ I breathed slowly in through my nose, and concentrated.

Reality snapped back into motion, and when I finally let my eyes move over their faces, my stomach turned with a jolt. This time, _Jasper_ was glaring at me– though he stopped as suddenly as he started, as Alice put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, Bella," she said, in her lovely, chiming voice. "If you're looking for Edward, he's sitting over there," she pointed down a few tables. "It looks like you had the same idea; he was going to ask you to sit with him today."

"Oh," I said, noticing how rough my voice sounded in comparison to hers. Rougher than usual, even. "Uhm, thank you." She nodded encouragingly, and I headed off in the direction she indicated.

Edward had a bemused smile as I approached. "Hello, Bella. Would you like to sit with me today?"

Nodding mutely, I sat in a chair perpendicular to his.

He had his tray pushed out a few inches, elbows resting on the table casually. "I apologise for not asking you ahead of time. Did you want to sit with one of my siblings instead?"

I shook my head, finding my voice. "No, I wanted to talk with you." It was at that moment that I realised I had _no idea _what I actually wanted to talk about. It was probably more that I just wanted to be near him. Or to be his friend. Or something. _How do people usually go about these things?_ I wondered.

He smile widened briefly as I ruminated on my lack of social finesse; I wondered if he could sense it.

"Oh!" A subject finally came to mind. "I was talking to Jessica, and– Well, I mean I'd forgotten, but you were across the parking lot– Oh, I mean yesterday, with the whole van thing–" _Oh my god I am so bad at talking._

I tried starting over again. "What I mean is, yesterday, when you pushed me away from that van," _Please let him believe that's what happened, _"How did you get to me so fast? You were a few cars away." _Oh my God, what if he's only talking to me because he saw what I did, after all? What if he asks? What if my asking him this just reminds him of the whole thing, and I end up being the reason he asks–_

"I was standing right next to you, Bella," he interrupted smoothly.

"Huh?" _No, that can't be right. Jessica saw him too._

He furrowed his brow for a moment. "Actually, on second thought... I've been thinking things through, trying to figure out the best course of action." His face relaxed, presumably having decided on whatever-it-was. "I would like to tell you about it, but it's something of a long story. Do you think you and your father may wish to join my family for dinner?"

It was a total non-sequitur. I was not prepared for this.

"Sure," I said automatically. "Uhm, I mean, I'll have to ask Charlie, but he's said a lot of good things about your dad, so–"

"Excellent. And I promise that I'll explain what happened, afterward." He flashed a bright smile, almost knocking me over with the sheer, raw power of _holycrap-he's-pretty._

We sorted out dinner plans with our respective parents, and the time was set for later that evening. (I had to borrow Edward's phone– it seemed this Bella didn't own a mobile.) We didn't talk much for the remainder of lunch, or in class; we sat in companionable silence, meditating on our own thoughts. It was pleasant.

The thought hadn't occurred to me until I got back in my truck at the end of the day.

_Wait. Edward Cullen, prettyboy supreme, thinks he needs to _bribe _me into a family dinner?_

* * *

><p><strong>Leah and James<strong>

* * *

><p>A few days later, she felt she'd garnered enough of his trust to ask. "I know you don't want multiple copies of yourself gallivanting around Forks, like you said, but..." She paused. "Why don't you just go, you know, get her? I know you want to do research in other places to prepare," She still wasn't sure what he'd meant by that. "But wouldn't it be easier to just go get her?" There had to be a reason. Obnoxious, full of himself, sure. But he wasn't stupid.<p>

"As you know, I can find anything, anywhere. A tracker. Right?"

"...Yes?"

"And her grandmother, she had some... particular powers of her own. Naturally making for a very, very unique granddaughter."

"...Okay?"

"The girl is a blind-spot. I literally am unable to find her. Which is ludicrous; she's made of my own material. I shouldn't have the same trouble as the others. And I'm a tracker! It's–" he cut himself off. Blinked a few times. "Well, it's terribly difficult to work with, at any rate."

She did not ask again.

* * *

><p><strong>Cullen Family Meeting (Another World)<strong>

* * *

><p>"I don't know what happened," Jasper said. He'd had to cut his remaining classes. An anxious vampire surrounded by hormonal teenagers was already worrisome. An anxious vampire <em>caught-off guard<em> in such a situation was _invitation for disaster._ Fortunately, he had long since grown calm by the time the others returned home.

"Normally, there's always some sort of emotion coming from them, even if only calmness or boredom. But for her, it was like there was no-one home."

"I wonder why her power would grow so suddenly?" Carlisle was paging through a small notebook, where he had been writing comparisons of Bella's power to those of previous witches he'd met. It was unnecessary of course, as he had perfect recall, but old habits die hard. "There would normally have to be a great trauma."

"Yes, yes, she's very fascinating. Do you really expect to figure these things out by sharing a meal with her and her father?" Rosalie asked.

"Well, it's certainly worth a try. And Edward does want to spend a little more time with her," he smiled apologetically at his adopted son. "If we're consuming human food, it should dampen our sense of smell a great deal. It's the safest possible scenario."

"Tempting as dining with humans may be," Rosalie sneered, "I think I'll sit this own out. I hate having to... _regurgitate_ food. It's disgusting."

"Me too, actually," said Emmett. "She's right, it's pretty disgusting. The food, that is." He barked out a laugh at his joke, and they excused themselves.

And then there were five.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Jasper?" Esme asked gently. "If it's too disconcerting for you..."

"I can handle it." He looked toward Alice. "It's not like it's actually physically painful."

She glowered. "It will be fine. As long as I avoid any blank-spots as they come up, it's not too bad. And I really want to see if I can get a read on Charlie. It may be easier to concentrate on him if he's nearby, since I'm not very familiar with him."

"Blank-spot..." Carlisle mused. "That describes her power pretty well, don't you think? I'd been thinking of her more as having some sort of shield."

"Would she still be considered a shield, do you think? In the end, it might depend on how she uses it, if she becomes–"

"She's not _becoming_ anything, Jasper," Edward said harshly.

Jasper raised his hands placidly. "I'm only speaking hypothetically. It's just interesting, that's all."

* * *

><p><strong>Leah and James, October 3rd, 2005 (A familiar scene)<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>It's simple, Leah. Just take this, hit this key– it's already programmed, you don't have to do anything– and make sure to toss it onto the Cullen's property within one minute. That's all we need to happen, and I'll be able to move freely."<em>

"_Why don't you do it?"_

_He shook his head. "They can find disturbances in time. I am a walking, talking time-disturbance. It has to happen before I leave this property." He sighed. "I need this, so I can find the girl, Leah. My own granddaughter. For humanity."_

_She frowned. "But... so am I. Someone who's disturbed time, I mean."_

_He waved a hand. "If it's just you, they won't notice. You've only actively leapt once. I'm fairly sure they won't notice the rest. It just won't be enough material for them to catch onto."_

"_It just doesn't seem... safe."_

_He blinked. "Oh, is that all? One moment." He walked up to the desk, setting down the return-key, and began rifling through the drawer. "Here." He held up a syringe just long enough for her to look at it, before jabbing it directly in her heart. "Don't worry, it's slow release. You've got a good six hours before it kicks in." He smiled. "Don't want to be distracted for your mission, after all."_

"_What... what did you do to me?"_

"_Venom, of course! Well, manufactured venom. I'm sorry, dear Leah. I spoke so often of immortality, and had not yet even offered you the option."_

_She stared. "Why give this to me now? Why not wait until you had finished your research? Why not wait for the improved version?" _He knows. He _knows._ He knows, and I'm going to die of fucking venom-poisoning.

"_I'll just update your dosage later; compatibility shouldn't be an issue. Please don't concern yourself with it." He– he didn't know. That she was a werewolf. That she was going to stop him. To stop all of this. She still had a chance._

_She still had a chance, and she was still going to die._

"_I..."_

"_Why do you seem so sad, my dear?" He furrowed his brows. For once, she was having trouble keeping the emotions off her face; she looked away from him, out the window._

"_We've been working so hard; I think we finally have it! Please don't ignore me. I need your help!" There was a pause, as the concept of her possibly not-trusting-him finally crashed down. "Do you hate me now? If you don't believe in me, believe in her. It's for her future. This isn't about you anymore. How can you be so cold?"_

"_It wasn't ever about me or her. It never was. It's something else, isn't it." No use in pretending to be stupid now. He still needed her to do this. Let him doubt himself. Just this once._

_A pause stretched between them uncomfortably._

"_...But you're all I have left," she added. _

_And so she found herself, wearing Kate's old tattered dress coat (James did not ask after her habit of wearing it for days on end, taking it as a sign of mourning), and accepting what Kate had called a return-key from the desk. _

_She keeps up the charade until she's off the property, stopping just behind the barrier wall to mumble something about asking God's forgiveness, and steps through the unseen-field surrounding the property._

_She did it._

* * *

><p><strong>Other Bella (Trainer-Bella)<strong>

* * *

><p>The second day dragged its heels into the ground with each tick of the clock. She would try to concentrate on personal things; mentally arranging troops, realigning scenarios, coming up with side-quests to keep the rest of her party busy while <em>she<em> was busy with Bella. Her heart wasn't really in it. More often than not, she found herself back in that tent, checking and re-checking Bella's cot.

By the time the third day passed, she finally sat down to do the maths- finding precisely how long Bella had been gone.

There were only two possible conclusions.

"Oh, no..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gather round, kids. It's authorial advice time. *Leans forward, whispers* For the love of Hades and all things Below, be wary on deciding to finish a story with an overcomplicated plot you brewed up when you were a teenager. **


	22. Storm

**Disclaimer: ...This truth is so ingrained in the minds of the surrounding writers, that so-called "plot bunnies" of each AU is considered the rightful property of some or other of their stories. {But me, personally? It's all fun, here. Twilight isn't mine, and if you see an idea of mine you like, I'd be gratified if you wish to use it. Though I'd like a link. ;}**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22 – Storm<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>James, October 2nd Evening,<strong>

**in a parking lot outside Newton Outfitters**

* * *

><p>It took him dangerously close to Cullen territory, finding the Quileute girl. But it seemed like a good idea at the time, and what more could a tracker ask for?<p>

Yes, she would be perfect. Optimal. She would be history, as would he, of course. He was a victor; he knew how to write such things.

* * *

><p><strong>James, October 3rd, after Midnight<strong>

* * *

><p>He watched her leave, pondering. Obviously she would be off to betray him in some form or other; such things were inevitable in this line of work. He wouldn't have left his semi-valuable (and <em>only<em> semi-valuable) research materials around if he were unsure. Regardless, there was very little she could do.

He'd already gotten what he wanted.

A shame about Kate, though. Just goes to show, one cannot save the lives of those who refuse to save themselves. It baffled him how many humans refused or refrained from the transition. At least his research would lead to the sort that would be truly sustainable. Among other things.

But honestly, having to _wait_ to _save lives?_ They were downright pushing him; he could only work so quickly, even with time on his side. If he were capable of stress, it would be a nightmare.

He sighed, rising to pack a small bag. As he began to leave the property, he paused on the front porch. A strange sense of urgency had snapped at the back of his mind for attention.

He went back in. Gathered all his research materials that had yet remained, and sent them to the appropriate time and place ahead of him. And left the property again.

Paused.

It seemed like quite a good idea to... Hmm.

He stepped away, disabled the guards that held the cottage in time-space, and looked upon the dilapidated shack that had replaced it.

He felt the oddest urge to set it aflame.

Well. If he burned the place, he wouldn't be able to set up to gather his keys. Which meant he was only going to need the one he currently had on his person?

He pondered this as he tossed the capsule that should produce the longest-lasting blaze.

_Why_ would he only need the one? Had something changed? Or had he always been meant to change plans along the way? Strange powers, strange powers. Ah, well. Bestn't complain a gift, unless you want a rift, as they will say.

He hesitated once more, on the edge of the property.

This time, he had the urge to depart to another _time. _Another time! When he had such business he wanted done? What did it even _mean_ to have an urge to do one thing, but a wish to do another? What a conundrum.

Well, so long as he _wanted_ to stay, even if he had the _urge_ to leave, it ought work out in the end. It was literally impossible for him to do anything incorrectly, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Leah and Edward, <strong>**October 3rd**

**Main World, Post-Escape**

**Château de Swan**

* * *

><p>They came to a halt in the woods outside the Swan's house. It was still night at this point; couldn't be past three in the morning. Leah started to feel better about their chances– and better for it being "their" and not just "her".<p>

Leah asked in a whisper, "What are we doing here?"

He put a palm up and closed his eyes for a moment, listening. Exhaled slowly with a smile. "They're both home. He hasn't gotten to them yet. As long as Bella stays close to her father, they should both be safe."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. "That's all? James said she was untrackable, but he made it seem like–"

They both froze in place as something in the air shifted, ever so slightly.

"Do you smell... ozone?"

Their heads swiveled in unison toward the attic window. Even in the darkness, Leah could see the delicate outlines of thin frost bloom out from the edges of the pane.

* * *

><p>Edward plopped softly back onto the ground. "She's gone."<p>

"Bullshit."

"See for yourself."

She climbed the tree outside the window carefully, making no noise, and swung over to the window frame. The frost was too thick to see anything. She dug her fingers under the sill and heaved, and the window crashed up with a _bang!_ She halted as Bella... appeared, above her bed, dropping into it and bouncing bolt upright.

Leah dropped softly to the ground, scarcely breathing. A few seconds later, the window slammed shut.

They exchanged a glance.

Edward shrugged. "That... works, actually. We have to keep her from going wherever she's disappearing to." He glanced up at the window. "Just keep waking her until she stops going away in her sleep."

"... You're sure that will work?"

"It's all we've got. The alternative is automatic failure mode."

"Should we, I don't know, actually say something to her?"

"No, we'll just keep observing until she's asleep and still in bed. Once that happens, one of us can keep watch, or I'll call someone to keep watch."

The next time Leah opened the window, she saw a glimpse of the inside more accurately– it was _snowing in the room._

"Edward?" she whispered, upon gracefully landing next to him.

"Yes?"

"I've seen a lot of shit, right?"

"I presume so."

"Look, I'm not saying Bella is a lot of shit, or even a _little shit_, though she's been giving me a lot of trouble. But what– who is she?"

He smiled apologetically. "We're not entirely sure."

* * *

><p>Leah watched as Charlie and Bella drove off, guilt churning in her stomach. Not most of all for terrifying them, but because somewhere, her <em>father<em> was terrified. She'd already been reported missing after less than a _day._

"As long as they're together, they're safe, you said. If Charlie goes out looking for me..?" The worst thing? If everything went to hell, it was because of her. She wanted to _cry._

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

**Another World**

* * *

><p>Bella was fairly bouncing on her toes as she followed her father up the Cullens' driveway. He seemed decidedly morose. Without intending to, Bella had neglected to indicate that <em>Edward<em> had invited her to dinner, as opposed to say, Alice or Rosalie. It wasn't until he brought it up in the car, "So, which of the girls do you share classes with?" That she was obliged to disillusion him.

Whoops.

They were greeted at the door by Jasper, of all people. Almost instantly, both she and her father seemed to melt into more easy stances.

"Hello Mr. Swan, Bella," Jasper said. "Coat hooks are right here in the hall, dining room is this way. Esme's still setting plates." He backed up a step with every other word, smiling stiffly.

"You're Edward?" Charlie asked, with only a hint of gruffness.

"Jasper, actually. Edward's in the kitchen." He had already backed into the dining room at this point, so the other two quickly hung up their jackets and followed suit.

"Ah, hello Charlie. Good to see you again, especially outside a professional context." Carlisle put down a book and rose to shake his hand. "Bella, I could say the same for you," he smiled. "Are you well?"

"Doing great. Thanks, Doctor."

"Carlisle will do."

"Okay, Doctor Carlisle, PhD."

They seated themselves and spoke in idle chit-chat, and were soon joined by Edward and Alice laden with several dishes.

"Food smells great," Charlie said politely, even as Edward served him a portion from massive bowl of some noodle mixed with his least favourite vegetable.

The wattage of Esme's smile could have powered a small city.

Jasper smiled vaguely. "I've actually had a change of plans, and I'm going to be spending the night at a friend's house. I'm sorry for leaving so early." This was met with genial exclamations and well-wishing, and he left with one last smile.

The thin veneer of peace left with him, and in its place, tangible enmity fell like an iron fist.

Emulating the _maneki-neko_, Bella raised a hand to the empty doorway with a half beckoning, half grabbing gesture, to no avail. The rest of the table utterly failed to comment on this.

"Is the food okay?" Esme asked after some minutes of silent chewing, voice caught between giddiness and worry.

Charlie grunted in laconic reply.

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear," she said brightly, spearing a piece of broccoli and completely ignoring it. "I was considering doing a risotto, you know, but I wasn't sure that would be quite seasonal..." Her burbling explanation continued in delightedly blissful contrast to Charlie's stoic chewing.

"So, Bella..." Edward began with a lean in her direction, before Charlie cast furrowed brows at him. "... How is school." He pushed himself slightly back into his seat.

"School is good. Yours?"

"My schooling is also... good." His lips twitched.

"That is good."

"I concur."

"Verily."

There was a snorting, hissing noise of suppressed laughter from Alice's seat, but when Bella looked over, she was composedly taking a sip of water. Her eyes glanced at Bella in sparkling amusement, before turning toward her father. "Charlie, how is work?"

He grunted.

"That is good. Though I suppose with the weather, traffic incidents would be on the rise."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose there would be fewer school cancellations here, where snow is so common, when you compare it to people who only get a few inches of snowfall each year. Would they be less prepared to salt the roads? Maybe I'll look it up online later."

Charlie furrowed his brows thoughtfully, before returning to his plate. Alice stared at him blankly, before her mouth widened in a grim smile. "Carlisle, may I be excused? I have a lot of schoolwork to do, and I can eat while I read."

"Feel free."

She rose with her plate and darted gracefully up the stairs.

Time passed like molasses for the rest of the meal. Finally, Carlisle stood and said, "Charlie, would you like to join me in my study while the children talk? We've not gotten the opportunity to speak often, out of professional context."

Charlie's eyes darted haplessly toward the door, before his politeness got the better of him. "Sure."

"Esme," Edward said smoothly. "I'd like to show Bella my music collection. If I keep my door open..?"

"Of course, dear," came Esme's warm reply, before Charlie's frantic expression could form into words. "Bella, I'll be right in the room across if you need anything." Her father seemed to relax somewhat at this.

* * *

><p>"So..." She said delicately, flopping onto the stiff leather couch. Something about him seemed remarkably uptight, and somehow that made it <em>easier<em> to relax. It felt like he needed the example to go by.

With her laziest slouch, she sunk as deeply into the unyeilding leather as she could, eyes scanning the room for topic. "Nice collection," she said, nodding toward the CDs.

Edward mumbled something she couldn't catch, and she nodded automatically as though she'd heard. There was a terse silence.

"Oh, hey," she looked around the room quizzically. "You don't have a bed." Her eyes lit up. "Oh! That explains it! I was wondering why you had those dark circles under your eyes all the time, but you must have one of those weird sleep schedules, right?"

"Pardon?"

"Like, those people who instead of sleeping eight hours altogether, take naps through the day. I forget what it's called, but..."

"Yes, that's–" A sharp crack came from the next room over. He sighed. "No, that's not it, actually. That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"You... invited me over to talk about your sleep schedule?"

"No, but that's part of it." He took a deep breath. "Bella, you are perceptive. You have surely noticed that there is something strange about my family. Have you had any guesses?"

Bella sat up a little straighter, face smoothing into seriousness. "Are you robots and / or artificial intelligences?"

"I–" he blinked. "What? No."

She stood. "Are you aliens? As in, from outer space?"

He took on a deer-in-headlights expression, as she took a few hasty steps forward, not _quite_ reaching out to him. "Are you Time-Lords?"

His lips twitched between bemusement and amusement. "I– what? No, Bella. I'm a vampire."

There was a pause.

"Oh," she seemed to deflate somewhat. But then she rallied. "So, like, someone bit you, and now you drink people's blood?"

"... I try to drink only from animals. But yes."

"Do you guys know like, the entire vampire genealogy? Insofar as people infecting eachother, down to the first person or peoples?"

"Well, no. We've been around for a very long time, but I don't think anyone in living memory would know."

Bella grinned brightly. "So you still might be aliens!"

"You are... taking this very well."

There was a decidedly awkward pause. "Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I should probably ask you to prove it, but..."

"Or to prove I only drink from animals?" His lips tightened in a sardonic smile. "Are you not afraid of me?"

"What? No! You've always been a perfect gentlemen. If you were going to eat me, you would have done that already." A small voice in the back of her mind said something unhelpful, and she blushed.

He averted his gaze. "There are plenty of flaws in that line of thinking, Bella. You should have a better sense of self-preservation."

Bella gaped. "Well excuse me for having a little human curiosity!" she snapped. "Maybe I should just never leave the house again, in case I die in a car crash, or get sick, or get mugged!"

She stopped at the stricken expression on his face. Took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm a woman of the modern world, right? There are a lot of things I'm afraid of, but my mother raised me to..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes seeming to focus on something far away. "I'm a little incongruous, now that I think of it."

"Bella?"

"Sorry. But why are you telling me this, anyway? Seems like a pretty big secret to be telling someone you barely know." She tugged her lip between her teeth; a signal of either thoughtfulness or concern.

"That's not all there is to it, either. There's more." He moved slightly, as though to step forward and close the gap between them, before thinking better of it. "But... I think that's enough for today."

"Hey. I know what reciprocation is, just so you're aware."

He raised an eyebrow.

"If you're hoping I'll share a bunch of personal secrets with you if you drag this out..."

He grinned brightly, and seemed to relax somewhat. "The thought never crossed my mind."

* * *

><p><strong>The Cullens, Another World<strong>

**Later that Evening**

* * *

><p>"So in short, Charlie is perfectly normal?"<p>

"Yes, but Bella, it almost seems like she has some control over her gift. Whether intentional or not. If she's feeling tense, she'll let me calm her down. If she wants to signal something, such as wanting me to come back after leaving, I'll get a spike of... almost _directed_ emotion from her. It's like she's a broadcast station."

"That makes sense," Edward agreed. "If I think about it like that, it does feel like I could only pick up thoughts that were directed at me."

"I wonder what the mother is like?" Jasper mused.

"Now, now. You understand her well enough, please no more experimenting on poor Bella's family." She meant to sound scolding, but Esme was still too delighted from the aftermath of playing hostess. She'd not had the opportunity in some time.

"And if we invite Bella's mother to dinner..?" Edward asked, his lips twitching.

"Oh–!"

"Edward, stop teasing your mother." Carlisle said, organising his notes.

"My apologies, Esme." Edward smiled sheepishly.

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

* * *

><p>The following day they exchanged little more than pleasantries, with Bella spending most of her time with her other friends. Eric Yorkie seemed to be closer to the others in this world, though he seemed a fair bit shyer. She had been trying to strike conversation with him all the down the lunchline, but he only replied in monosyllables. By the time they approached their table, Jessica swept over them like a hurricane and Yorkie was sadly lost in the tide.<p>

"What. Happened." She seemed about to implode.

"Can you be more specific?" Bella asked, allowing herself to be bodily squeezed into the seat between Jessica and Lauren.

"She wants to know when the wedding is," Mike said, picking carefully at an orange.

Bella blinked, and understood. "Oh, that was last year. We have a child. They should be about your age, now."

Everyone stared.

"I'm joking, of course. Dad and I went to their house for dinner and we hung out. It was, well, normal." While she meant to deflect away from them finding out about her crush, it hadn't occurred to Bella until that moment that the visit would _probably_ be more interesting to other people for completely different reasons. Like, vampires.

Eh. She'd seen weirder.

"Details!"

"Esme made broccoli alfredo and some sort of French pastries." Really, outside the whole vampire thing and Edward being vaguely mysterious, it _was_ a pretty normal visit. "I mean, it was _really_ tasty." A little too much pepper, maybe, but still one of the best meals she'd had in a while. _Huh. I'd almost forgotten, I really like cooking. Maybe I should ask for the recipe; it was the first time I've seen dad willingly eat broccoli._

She blinked rapidly at a pair of fingers snapping in front of her eyes. Jessica glowered. "Focus, Bella."

"Yes. Right. Sorry. Uhm, what?"

"Anyway, even outside your little field trip–" She paused a moment, looking somewhat sheepish. "Did you ask him about, you know, the accident?"

Mike peered up curiously at this.

"Ah," Bella said.

_Oh._ Maybe that was why Edward hadn't... wait, how strong were vampires? How good were his eyes? Did he see what she'd done, that day? Was _that_ why he was sharing his secret? Or was he lying about the whole vampire thing? Maybe _he_ thought _she_ was a vampire, and was going for reciprocation...

She cleared her throat. "Sorry." _Time to take one for the team._ "I was going to ask, but I got distracted because he's pretty. You know how it is." She wasn't sure whose team she just took one for, but she hoped she was on it.

This seemed like the proper thing to say; she got her intended response. Mike rolled his eyes, Eric snorted, Jessica sighed.

"And then you made dinner plans." She held up her hands in a hopeless gesture. "Well, if you can find out, let me know. I'm giving up." Her lips widened into a predatory smile. "But I want all the details on the romance."

Bella sighed in defeat.

* * *

><p>"Bella," Edward said from beside her, once they sat for biology. "Do you like baseball?"<p>

She blinked. "Well, my stepfather plays, but I never really got into it, myself. Why?"

"It's the great American past-time!"

"I'm a woman of the modern age." She shrugged. "It's okay, I'm just not really into it."

He sighed. "Well you see, my family was thinking of having a game this weekend..."

"In January?"

"It's heating up to sixty on Saturday, actually. There's supposed to be a thunderstorm that night."

"You want to play baseball in January in a sixty-degree thunderstorm? You should have said so to begin with! Sign me up. Though as a warning, you probably don't want me on your team."

He shuffled his papers awkwardly. "It... would actually be quite dangerous to have you play." His voice dropped. "We're very strong you see. I thought you may enjoy the spectacle, though."

She frowned. "Let me think."

He inclined his head, and they worked quietly until the bell rang. Before he turned to leave, Bella put a hand on his shoulder.

He met her intense gaze with raised brows. "What?"

"_I have the best idea ever."_

* * *

><p>"That," Emmett said, awe making his voice heavy with emotion, "Is the best idea ever."<p>

"It could really even things out, if done properly," Rosalie said, sounding surprised.

"It would take some amount of work, but we should be able to prepare in time," Carlisle said agreeably.

Esme was already finishing the straps of her toolbelt.

* * *

><p>Bella spent the whole of Friday evening planning with them, and most of Saturday. Little by little, she learned just what the family was like; how strong they were, how fast; about Alice's premonitions, and Jasper's moodswing ability. The only thing that tripped her up was Edward's mind reading, but she relaxed when he said he was generally unable to get a read on her.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday<strong>

**5:10 PM**

**Team 2, in Position**

* * *

><p>Bella adjusted the straps that held the spare ammunition for her paintball gun, giddy with excitement, as Alice stared blankly at the horizon.<p>

"They'll come from the west, and won't be able to get closer than twenty feet before they run out of space."

"They're over there, right? It seems a lot further away, to my little human self," Bella said in a good-natured tone.

"Emmett wouldn't play if it was too fair. Either way, they're still fairly limited. They can't go farther than the hoses can stretch from the warm water tank, and the waterguns can't shoot further than twenty feet. And you're the only one who doesn't have to stay attached to anything."

The vampires on her team were also using a hot water tank, in the offchance Bella got caught in the crossfire. She was probably in more danger of getting upended by trailing hoses than getting damp, though. (Actually, Alice initially had some morbid images of Bella getting hit by the hoses if someone ran the wrong way, but if she stayed in a wooded area, she'd be fine. They had about three hours they could play, before the storm hit, and Alice would re-check the future to make sure Bella would be safe. So far, everything looked good.

"And we have the woods on our side. All they've got is a big pile of rocks."

"Plus we have all the psychics on our team," Jasper said, chewing intensely on what she learned was pepper-flavoured gum. (It dissolved after thirty seconds or so, but he said the effect kept him calm for up to ten minutes. Apparently, that was really good.)

"And Esme's going to avoid hitting pretty much everyone, and she and Carlisle probably won't aim for you because they're convinced you'll get hypothermia."

Edward gave her a worried glance at that. Bella wrinkled her nose at him.

"So for my part, I just need to watch out for Rosalie and Emmett. Right?"

"Time's approaching. Three minutes."

The sun was sinking at an alarming rate. Soon, they would be upon us. Someone behind her murmured, _Dun dun dunn..._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There is a joke here from xkcd comic 57.**


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